Daedalus in Exile
by EZRocksAngel
Summary: After leaving Forks, Edward follows a path of weakness and isolation while eventually seeking redemption from the only person who can absolve him. Alternate Universe, B/E
1. Chapter 1

**Something I've been working on. The first section is from MS. The story starts from there.**

**Thanks to my regular girls, OCD, AG & Bethaboo. Also HOL who really helped me get this together in my brain. Also my new beta and comma helper Lts929**

~*~**  
**

**Daedalus In Exile**

~*~

_When I slid into my Volvo, the others were already there. I tried to control my breathing, but I was gasping at the fresh air like I'd been suffocated._

_  
"Edward?" Alice asked, alarm in her voice._

_I just shook my head at her._

_"What the hell happened to you?" Emmett demanded, distracted, for the moment, from the fact that Jasper was not in the mood for his rematch._

_Instead of answering, I threw the car into reverse. I had to get out of this lot before Bella Swan could follow me here, too. My own personal demon, haunting me... I swung the car around and accelerated. I hit forty before I was on the road. On the road, I hit seventy before I made the corner._

_Without looking, I knew that Emmett, Rosalie and Jasper had all turned to stare at Alice. She shrugged. She couldn't see what had passed, only what was coming._

_She looked ahead for me now. We both processed what she saw in her head, and we were both surprised._

_"You're leaving?" she whispered._

_The others stared at me now._

_"Am I?" I hissed through my teeth._

_She saw it then, as my resolve wavered and another choice spun my future in a darker direction._

_"Oh."_

_Bella Swan, dead. My eyes, glowing crimson with fresh blood. The search that would follow. The careful time we would wait before it was safe for us to pull out and start again..._

_"Oh," she said again. The picture grew more specific. I saw the inside of Chief Swan's house for the first time, saw Bella in a small kitchen with the yellow cupboards, her back to me as I stalked her from the shadows... let the scent pull me toward her..._

_"Stop!" I groaned, not able to bear more._

_"Sorry," she whispered, her eyes wide._

_The monster rejoiced._

_And the vision in her head shifted again. An empty highway at night, the trees beside it coated in snow, flashing by at almost two hundred miles per hour._

_"I'll miss you," she said. "No matter how short a time you're gone."_

_Emmett and Rosalie exchanged an apprehensive glance._

_We were almost to the turn off onto the long drive that led to our home._

_"Drop us here," Alice instructed. "You should tell Carlisle yourself."_

_I nodded, and the car squealed to a sudden stop._

_Emmett, Rosalie and Jasper got out in silence, they would make Alice explain when I was gone. Alice touched my shoulder._

_"You will do the right thing," she murmured. Not a vision this time - an order. "She's Charlie Swan's only family. It would kill him, too."_

_"Yes," I said, agreeing only with the last part._

_She slid out to join the others, her eyebrows pulling together in anxiety. They melted into the woods, out of sight before I could turn the car around._

_I accelerated back toward town, and I knew the visions in Alice's head would be flashing from dark to bright like a strobe light. As I sped back to Forks doing ninety, I wasn't sure where I as going. To say goodbye to my father? Or to embrace the monster inside me? The road flew away beneath my tires._

~*~

My hands were busy moving the paddle though the thickening cement. I wove it round, careful to mix thoroughly, adding water sparingly for the correct consistency.

I paused, letting it set for a second before I began using it, and heard the footsteps behind me.

_Back to work? _He asked while cataloguing the area before us.

I met his eyes, a swirling, bright topaz and nodded. "Yes, I'm going to try to finish off this section this week, before the snow comes."

I reached out and moved the paddle a little, not wanting the cement to become too firm, Carlisle spoke aloud, "Well, things seem good here. You seem good."

Turning to face him, I realized he had changed his clothes for his trip home. He was holding a small travel bag, I assumed, with his hunting clothes packed neatly inside. I smiled lightly and agreed, "Yes, things are good here."

The situation between us now was always tense. Although he tried to mask it, I knew he worried and prayed that I was following the right path. I was. But he couldn't read minds so, he had to have faith that I was telling the truth.

Carlisle's curious eyes flicked to the bin next to me and he walked over to peer inside. Reaching in he pulled out one of the old soda bottles I had stored inside. He grinned at the sight. "Where did you find this?"

I smiled with him, and took the antique from his hands. "I found it in an old barn outside of town. I'd passed it many times; the property is abandoned. I went in and there was a whole crate of these shoved in the loft."

He looked at the bottle in my hands and, then, over my shoulder at the project I was in the middle of. "These will be a nice addition to your project."

I would have blushed at his sincerity but only said, "I think so."

My hands found the paddle again and I began stirring. I picked up my trowel and dipped it in the gray mixture, pulling out a large scoop.

Carlisle continued to stand over me, watching my movements, the questions rolling around his head. Unable to bear the hovering anymore, I turned and raised an eyebrow in offering.

"The urges…." He wondered aloud, ashamed to fully ask.

"Are under control," I stated. My hands had paused on the paddle, and I thought about how this was part of my penitence, that no matter how much time went by, trust would always be an issue.

"Good." He replied, a small, proud smile on his lips. "I knew it would be. Okay, well, I'll see you next month then, Carlisle said, when he realized I had begun working.

"Next month," I agreed and watched as he retreated towards his car. Just before he opened his door, I dropped the tool in the bucket and ran over to him. I wiped my hands on my jeans and dug in my back pocket, extracting the envelope. "I almost forgot," I said, although we both knew this wasn't even close to the truth.

The face of the envelope was blank, but he knew who it was for. He reached for it and tucked it in his coat pocket. "I'll make sure she gets it," he promised. Carlisle paused, his hand on the door. He reached out and squeezed my shoulder with reassurance. "She'll forgive you some day."

I shook my head and laughed weakly. It had been five years. I doubted that day would ever come, but I tried in the only ways that I knew how. "Tell the others I said hello and that I miss them, I begged and reached around him to open the car door.

It was time for him to go and time for me to go back to my routine. I walked away before he drove off, bracing myself for the silence and solitude of my existence.

~*~

I closed the door behind me. It was heavy and clicked into place with a solid thud. The air was cold enough around me that even I felt the distinct slap of winter on my face as I crossed the weathered boards of the porch and walked into the yard. It was late afternoon. Late enough for the sun to have slid behind the trees, but early enough to still see clearly.

Not that I needed either--the obstruction or clarity of the sun. My home in the woods was completely isolated. No living soul had trespassed over this land in dozens of years. I could walk around buck naked and sparkle like a diamond on display at Tiffany's and no one would ever see it. I could also hunt in the dead of night and track my prey easily and effectively with my keen eyesight.

I considered what I wanted to satiate my hunger. It was a challenge of mine. I could, of course, go for the easy route--to capture a deer or coyote, neither of which was much of a sport. Since I only fed sporadically and always hunted alone, I tried to make it more engaging, more of a game. The hills of North Carolina were filled with black bear and wild boar. Unfortunately, my preferred choice of mountain lion was endangered in this area, although it was possible to run across a bob cat. I settled on looking for a bear or boar and tried to catch a trail for either while walking over my small yard and disappearing into the thick surrounding woods.

I started out walking but soon succumbed to the faster pace I craved. I loved to run. I always had. Even before this life I had been fast and agile. I would climb and jump and push my body the only way I knew how.

A smile pushed across my face as my feet trampled the dry leaves on the ground, snapping dead branches lying underfoot. Inhaling deeply, attempting to find a direction, I finally caught a faint whiff of animal.

_Over there_, my senses told me, and I leaned down to sniff the bark on a tree next to me. Something had definitely passed this way recently. Running my finger over the brittle grayish-brown bark, I noted the odor was placed too high to be a boar, but didn't smell like a deer or bear exactly. Looking closer, I couldn't find the tell tale hairs usually left by animals when they brushed against the coarse side of a tree. There wasn't enough scent remaining to determine what it was, so I shifted my direction east to get a better idea.

I patiently followed the weak trail though the woods and realized after a while the direction was off--confused. I'd crossed my own path several times, circling around, which was a bit erratic, even for an animal. I eased my feet and paused, standing silently as I patiently listened for something-_anything_ to clue me into the whereabouts of my prey.

Nothing.

So I waited more, the only sound coming from my soft inhalations, the birds in the trees and the typical creaky moans a forest makes.

And then I heard it.

Although it was faint, I could hear the wildness and throbbing of the beat. It was bigger than a boar, smaller than a bear and thumping with such vengeance that it held my attention rapt. It was familiar, but wrong. So wrong that overwhelming feelings of dread and horror filled my mind, but so quickly, before I could even decide which direction the lure was coming from, the wind shifted just a fraction and it hit me like a slap across the face--

_No_.

I tentatively inhaled again, sure my impression was wrong--that somehow, I was confused.

My nostrils were assaulted by the scent and my tongue was lit on fire. Panic consumed me.

_No._

_No,_ because I'd done this before and failed. _No_, because I didn't have the strength to resist again. _No_, because my mouth immediately filled with pools of slick, wet venom and my nostrils flared and my feet were moving before my head had a chance to respond to my mind screaming _No_! over and over again…

_No_, because there was no way life could be so cruel, that all my hard work had been for naught, and that Alice had been right all along.

~*~

I'd left Forks that day and never returned. Alice and Carlisle brought my belongings and my car to Denali. It was the hardest goodbye of my life. I wasn't ready to go. But as Alice's hands clenched the back of my jacket, trying to convince me it would be okay, her mind showed me the twisted images, murky and waffling, waiting for me to make my decision.

Isabella Swan dead. Her lifeless body tossed disturbingly in the forest behind her father's home.

Isabella Swan happily, living her life safe and sound in the distant future.

Or a third, most confusing vision of Isabella Swan standing before me with red eyes, pale skin and a comforting smile.

There was only one answer, the second one, and I knew what I had to do to make this a reality. Only I could change the outcome of this situation.

I felt ill watching my mentor and sister drive away-leaving me hopeless and lost in the driveway of our friend's home. In our family, although I was technically the oldest, I was typically viewed as the youngest. I was considered immature, moody, and accused of being coddled. Esme and Alice doted on me. Emmett and Jasper picked on me and Rosalie ignored me, at best. And for me to walk away from it all was heartbreaking.

And as the days passed, in the secluded home in Alaska, my heartbreak turned to rage.

I stayed with Tanya and her family for only a week or so. I kept to myself in Tanya's isolated home. Avoiding the thoughts of my hosts, with Tanya and her eternal fantasies of us together frustrated me to no end. Her sisters wove their voodoo magic in my direction, attempting to distract me with hormones I no longer possessed. Instead, I hid in the guest room they offered and struggled everyday for the strength to return home and resume life as normal. To not return and kill that girl. But I was completely and utterly fixated. I compulsively thought of her hair and her face. I obsessed over the redness of her cheeks and the way her blood coursed though her veins. I imagined myself taking her over and over again, draining every last pulsating beat of life out of her body, until the rush of her blood filled my own veins and pounded through my ears.

That simple day in a simple biology class in the non-descript town of Forks, Washington was the beginning of my end.

Eventually the desperation drove me from my hiding spot. I left Tanya's in the middle of the day. I just packed my things and got in my car and drove, without as much as a thank you or goodbye. It was unlike me to be so rude. I had manners instilled by my mother and Esme. But it was really just a prediction of my future behavior and a clue that I was no longer the man I had been before I left Washington.

I had no idea how far removed from myself I had become.

I drove the opposite direction of my family and their home. I could feel my resolve weakening and I knew if I went back I wouldn't resist. But I also knew I would have to face the six members of my family in order to satiate my need. They wouldn't let it happen. And if I could give them anything it would be the peace of never returning.

I drove for miles, burning daylight and pavement under my tires, putting as much distance between myself and everything else. By necessity, I stopped in a small town in the middle of nowhere, Alaska to refuel and pulled up to the two tank station and parked the Volvo. It was almost sunny and I could see the glimmers of my skin reflecting on the silver of my car. I didn't care. I was tired and hungry and lost. No one was around anyway.

Rolling my eyes at the ancient nozzle—it required me to press the lever the whole time and not just click the lock in place--I focused on the mindless thoughts of the station attendant inside the little store behind me. She was watching soap operas and unpacking boxes of candy--hardly aware of my presence.

_Zip_… The noise echoed oddly in my ears, filling the void, but causing me to flinch like nails on a chalk board. I was on edge. I looked to the thoughts of the cashier, combing her mind to see the source of the offending sound. It was the sound of a knife's blade, running though the tape on the top of a box.

I sighed, and wished for her ignorance, of the easy life of a monotonous job and--mind numbing distractions. Brought out of my musings when the lever jerked, signaling my tank being full and I finished. I shoved the nozzle back in its holder and screwed back on the lid, flipping the little gas door closed and made my way to the shop.

_Zip._..

As I walked to the door, my phone vibrated excitedly in my pocket. It was my family or possibly Tanya finally realizing I'd flown the coop. They would spend hours trying to get me to return. It was futile. There was no way I could ever go back. I was one step short from gone already. So I silenced it, without ever looking at the screen.

_Zip__…_

I caught sight of myself in the narrow area of refection between the cigarette ads and soda promotions and grimaced at my appearance. My hair was on end. It no longer held the casual disarray that made women swoon. I looked like an escaped inmate from an asylum. My eyes were pitch black, with huge purple blemishes underneath, and I was so pale I could have passed for a zombie in a horror movie.

_Zip__…_

I flung back the door, erasing my image and heard the loud clang of a cowbell. I turned the corner, prepared to throw the money I already had out of my wallet onto the counter and leave.

And then it happened.

"Ouch."

The girl before me held her finger up, thrusting it into the air, revealing a long straight cut, with thick, red blood oozing down the side. My eyes flicked from her finger to her face and her hair. Long and draped. A thick curtain of mahogany. Then her flesh. Pale and white. And then, because I had lost sight of myself and reality, nothing else mattered except I had transposed Isabella Swan's face over the girls. All I saw was dark eyes, red lips, and pink flush cheeks. I could smell her and hear her thumping heart and feel her and….suddenly I was back in Forks, back in that classroom and I broke.

She never saw it coming. For, certain she never saw _me_ coming.

In an instant, she was incapacitated, her neck broken under the pressure of my fingers, and I tore her shirt down her back and bit into the soft flesh of her shoulder. Sucking and draining her to the very last edge of her life. The taste in my mouth wasn't the sweet blood of my fantasies but it was still good, better than an animal and it had been so many years since human blood had passed over my lips.

When she was drained and useless to me I realized, with disappointment, it had been one step short of the ecstasy I had been searching for. I looked at the girl and realized it wasn't _her._ That I truly had killed an innocent and that I had broken my resolve over an inferior substitute.

I saw my reflection again, this time in the security mirror behind the counter. My eyes were warming from black to a sudden and startling ruby red, their madness matching the rest of my look. I felt so empty but for, once full. I was satiated yet, starving. My tongue ran over my lip, tasting the residue of my meal.

_What had I done? _

Confused and overwhelmed, I left my victim draped un-ceremoniously over the counter of the convenience store and realized I hadn't filled the hole that tore open that day in Forks. But it was close-- this random girl's blood had at least dampened the boiling desire.

I left the way I came, dismissed by the clanking of the bell over the door, and I walked to my car. My phone vibrated again, pressuring against my leg. I reached in and tossed it in the trash by the gas pump.

At that moment, I began the next phase of my life. I had no idea at the time, but I would spend the next two years trying to extinguish the fire lit by Isabella Swan and almost losing myself entirely in the process.

* * *

I'm not gonna lie. This fic has been hard to write so far and i have been more than worked up. I hope it turns out okay. It's a little darker. It is all EPOV (YES, ALL EPOV), and well, if you didn't like the pacing of COH you may want to wait a bit to read or jump ship now.

I will update again this week and from then once a week.

thanks


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you all for such support and awesome reviews! I was so nervous and fretted for WEEKS. I finally had to post to light a fire under my ass.

Thanks to Lts929 and Bethaboo for betawork. To AG for being awesome.

Smeyer owns it. I own the rest.

* * *

~*~

Five years.

Two years spent hunting, running, tracking and killing. Murdering. Two years spent attempting to fill the hollowness inside.

Three years.

Three years recovering. Withdrawing. Relearning. Three years putting it all back together again, just to feel partially whole.

Five years since that fateful day in Forks when Isabella Swan and I crossed paths.

One second and my body wanted to tear through the forest and throw away every single day since the first and only time we'd shared space.

My mind was telling me to flee, run back to my house, pack my bags and leave forever.

But we all knew from experience that didn't work.

I could literally feel the void inside, the one I'd stitched up with a temporary thread, unravel and split wide again. Just one whiff, one tiny sniff, and I felt empty.

There was a choice to be made here. And it wasn't the same one as before. Wildly, I shoved a hand into my hair and another onto the bridge of my nose. This could be my redemption. My second chance. This could be the opportunity to do what I should have done first time.

This was the moment I didn't realize I had been waiting for.

My feet began moving, erratically around the forest, trampling leaves and branches and small trees. My hands shook with excitement and indecision. _What do I do? What do I do?_ I thought over and over as I scanned the area with what I could only imagine as wild eyes and actions.

What does one do when presented with the best and worst gift of a lifetime?

I took a deep breath and slowed my feet and focused, deciding to do this the right way. I needed to clear my head. Gain some perspective. I needed to swallow the venom down my throat and ignore the pulsing fire licking at the back of my neck.

I needed to get my shit together before I ruined the opportunity at hand.

Forcing my eyes down, I searched for something to lead me to her. Several feet away, I was able to see the soft imprints of a shoe in the dirt and leaves. Someone's shoes had stripes across the bottom of the soles, causing smudges to appear where they stepped.

'_They,' _I thought, as though I didn't know who 'they' were.

_She_ had been here, and now, I was going to find her.

I wasn't as good at tracking as I was running, but my skills were still quite impressive.

Squatting over the disturbed area, I saw that she had hesitated for a moment. Her left foot dragged a bit—indecisive—as she wandered the area. When I stood, I noticed a string snagged on a shrub. Purple and bright. I held it to my nose and sniffed lightly.

There was a slight trace of her scent still on the fabric. Narrowing my eyes out of habit, more than need, I scanned the area and found several broken twigs scattered across the ground. Satisfied I had a starting point, I began walking in that direction.

If I had been human, my hands would be shaking. Nerves and excitement exploding under the surface. Like the crackhead looking for a fix or the alcoholic vying for their next drink—a rush of adrenaline burst through my senses, eager and anticipatory. But I was recovering, and held my desires close to the chest. Not sure exactly what I would do when the time came, but also knowing I would do _something_.

After I killed the cashier, I had changed. I was no longer the soft-spoken boy who excelled in his classes and was polite to his teachers.

I had turned into a cold-blooded killer, unhinged and looking for his next victim. Initially, my tracking abilities were limited. But as time passed, and my need for a specific type of target increased, I became better. Then, once I exiled myself here, surrounded by acres and acres of wilderness, I honed my abilities on animals, learning their patterns and behaviors.

Unfortunately, that meant there was little chance this girl would escape my grasp again. It was only a matter of what I would do with her when I found her.

~*~

I traveled slowly and diligently— getting closer with each step. The wind puffed and her scent wafted from below the next hill, confirming that she was still travelling erratically though the forest. I had a momentary surge of fear that perhaps it wasn't really her. Maybe I was making it up. Maybe I was losing my mind.

I flashed on the image of the dead cashier, drained and draped over the counter and winced—insanity was definitely a possibility.

It really didn't make any sense. Why would Isabella Swan from Forks, Washington be in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina? Why would she be wandering in the woods, away from the marked trails and walking directly towards my home? I tried to rationalize the situation but nothing here was rational.

Why would fate test me in such ways?

I shook off the doubt, because it was too late; it was either her or I had completely gone off the bend. There was nothing left to do, but find out.

I crept silently through the woods, weighing my options, trying to keep my body and my brain in the same place. My mouth, and arms and legs and teeth wanted to be on or in that girl right now so badly, I was almost vibrating from the intensity of my desire.

But even though my body was weak, my mind was still clear. Focused on the lessons I'd struggled so hard to learn. I'd lost so much and gained so little, but what I had was mine. If I took her--killed her--it would have all been for nothing.

I paused and leaned into the peeling bark of a birch tree and waited for her to come over the ridge. She was far enough away she wouldn't spot me, but I would be able to see her clearly.

Panic filled my mind as I waited. Smelling her was one thing, but seeing her would be quite something else entirely. I'd envisioned her over and over in my mind though the years, and had built her up to be my deity. Neither beautiful nor plain she just was…almost divine.

I had searched the world over, and not once had I come across a scent as magnificent as hers.

And then, there was the silence.

This girl had a quirk-- a glitch. Her mind was a steel trap. There were a million times in my life where I had wanted to calm the storm of thought that came my way. Only once had I sat in the quiet of thoughtlessness.

This girl was the exception to my rule, in more ways than one.

I'd spent hours considering this fact. The idea that the one whose blood called to me the most was also the one who held the peace I longed for.

The irony wasn't lost on me.

I cocked my head to the air, listening intently, and I could hear her heartbeat under the noises of the forest. She was closer now. I could hear her shuffling footsteps on the leaves covering the forest floor, even though she was half a mile away, but her mind was as deficient as the last time we'd met.

As I waited, at the bottom of the barren tree, I recalled how I'd thought of her countless times since that first day. I'd killed her a thousand different ways in my mind, reliving those first moments, and the ones that could have followed, if I'd chosen differently.

I closed my eyes and imagined the setting. In an instant, I was back there, surrounded by a classroom of children, enthralled by the new girl as much as I was, just not as morbidly. I considered killing her then and there—fast and hard. Plunging my venom-coated teeth into her neck. I plotted luring her behind the school, using my charms to take advantage. I even fantasized of killing her at home, while her father was gone, so I could take my time and relish every second and every drop of her.

But, I had resisted that first time. Could I do it again?

Somehow, the twisted hands of fate were challenging me to do this again.

Her footsteps were getting closer and I opened my eyes, bracing myself for her to emerge over the hill, under the canopy of leafless branches. Excited and nervous, I began scaling the birch, shreds of bark falling to the ground under my eager hands. Snow was coming, it was in the air, along with the conflicting scent freesia that was the taste of the soft, smooth skin exposed to the elements.

Again, I ignored the increased pooling of venom in my mouth and the longing and want in my throat.

I almost gasped when I spotted her head first. Not her head really, more her hat. It was purple and squashed over her brown hair. Long strands spilled from underneath and twisted around her neck and her back, tangled from the wind. Her eyebrows came next. They were furrowed, concentrated on the space above her nose. My hands clung to the tree, my knees bent and my shoes gripping futilely to the sides. I waited for her eyes to lift from the ground, so I could see the color, so I could confirm that it was really, truly her.

I realized I was holding my breath in anticipation, only swallowing the thick liquid that coated my throat. Even though I had known it was her, I couldn't believe she was truly here, in front of me, after all this time. I waited and after what seemed an eternity, her eyes darted around as if looking for something, and I leaned towards her from my perch in the sky to catch them, as they flicked in my direction.

Deep and brown. Soul-filled pools. I recalled seeing my reflection in them, so long ago. I almost lunged from my position, targeting her, pinning her to the ground. I wanted those eyes to stop haunting me. I wanted the fire behind them snuffed out but instead I saw they were rimmed in red, the whites splotchy and pink, and I noted the dry, sticky remains of tears that had seeped down her wind-chapped cheeks.

She had been crying.

I groaned deep and quiet, running my hands into my hair, pulling harshly to make sense of this moment, hoping to inflict pain, so my body would react to reality. Through the murkiness of my hunger addled-brain, I began to see the scenario for what it was or possibly could be.

She was alone, in the middle of the woods. It was getting dark and snow was in the air. It surely would have been forecast. My eyes assessed her small backpack and lack of sleeping bag. Her lightweight coat and mud-stained jeans.

Her eyes were red and her face tear stained.

I realized with a sudden rush the clarity and certainty of the situation.

Isabella Swan was lost.

~*~

The enormity of her situation stunned me. Isabella was lost. Alone. With no one around, with the exception of me. Her hunter, her stalker…her potential killer.

I watched her for a while, as she stopped at an outcropping of rocks to rest. She shifted impatiently on her feet, and I assumed they were tired from her hike. She pushed her stocking cap back when she rubbed her forehead with her purple glove covered hand.

I dug my own uncovered fingers into my pocket and pulled out the string I had discovered earlier.

Zeroing in on her more visible face, I took in her features. She was older—her mortality evident. Her face was narrow, her jaw thin and sharp, her cheekbones high and tight under her flawless skin.

It wasn't the same little girl I left in Forks that day. Isabella had transformed into a woman.

From my perch in the sky I wondered again, how this coincidence could have happened. We were thousands of miles from where we had last left. Surely she had lived her own life, barely aware of my absence at all, our only meeting sixty minutes of hell, five years ago. In a brief panic, I wondered if she hadn't come looking for me. Was she, in fact, tracking me instead?

Ridiculous.

I saw her shrug her pack off her back, and heard it drop to the ground with a soft thud. She struggled with the zipper, her fingers covered with thick wool, but she finally tugged it open, and pulled out a bottle of water and a silver, rectangular package.

I'd stopped moving entirely, as I watched her place the package in her teeth and rip the paper easily, revealing some kind of food that she began to eat slowly and deliberately.

I considered the last time I watched someone eat, and I couldn't really place it. It had been a very long time. My last trip to town had been several weeks ago. But my stops were choreographed exactly. The post office. The book and hardware stores. It was a routine, mostly to keep up appearances, but also out of comfort. I wasn't happy to live my life in exile, but I had no other choice.

The last person like myself that I saw eat was Carlisle, earlier this week when we spent the day hunting. I could only imagine what would have happened if he had been here today, the day Isabella stumbled across my path. I laughed humorously under my breath-- he definitely wouldn't approve of my actions so far.

Or inactions as the case may be.

I had found a wandering human, one I knew was lost, and hadn't helped or redirected her in any way. I hadn't killed her yet either, which I thought would deserve some praise, but that ship hadn't sailed either. The venom was still flowing aggressively down my throat, igniting the fire of thirst.

I frowned at the idea of his disappointment.

Shaking myself free of these thoughts I inhaled from around my shoulder, hoping for a fresh gust of wind-one not carrying the appetizing aroma of girl. Luckily for her, I was successful and caught a gust of Isabella-free air to swallow.

Refocusing, I saw her snack was almost finished. I could tell from the lines on her forehead she was concerned, it was probably all she had, as she had packed light. There was no sleeping bag or larger pack necessary for a longer hike. She had clearly just come out for the day, and, as the day began to wane, I knew I had to make some kind of decision about Isabella's fate. Because, it was clearly in my hands.

The thought gave me a disturbing sense of peace. I could kill her now. It would be so fast and quick. This time, there were no witnesses, no family to fail, no judgments on my weaknesses. No one would know, once I took her, it would be simple. I'd hide the body or even place it where the rangers could find it easily.

Honestly, I considered, killing her may be the kindest thing to do. She wouldn't last more than a night out here. She was far from the trail, so completely lost, it would take any search and rescue team a full day before they came this direction. That is, unless I helped her. Which wasn't really feasible. What would I do? Approach her from the woods and say, _Excuse me, you look lost? Can I lead you back to the trail?_

In my mind, a fantastical conversation took place, and I could see her thankful for my appearance, not even noticing my too-pale skin and discolored eyes, or the fact I wasn't even wearing a coat. Perhaps, she would even give me a hug, wrap her arms around me and squeeze me tight. I, on the other hand, would encourage it, playing the savior of this girl, patting her reassuringly on the back and once her body was close to mine, I would allow myself one little sniff, just one, and I would drop my nose into her hair and inhale, drawing in the wonderful scent of flowers and human and then—

I popped my eyes wide and surveyed my surroundings. While engrossed in my own fantasies, Bella had put her pack back on and had begun walking again. She fumbled a bit, clearly tired and obviously directionless.

I figured it would only be a matter of hours before she gave up. Then it could be over-one way or the other. She passed over the ridge and dipped from sight, forcing me from my roost in the tree. I jumped down, with a louder than intended thud.

I followed her scent and heartbeat over the hill--keeping a solid distance between us, but probably not as much as it should have been. Her situation and imminent death made me bold. One way or the other, Isabella wasn't making it out of these woods. There was really no reason for me to deny myself. I could let her freeze or waste away on her own. Or I could ease her suffering and pain.

The answer was obvious and sudden relief and excitement washed over me, as I realized my decision had been made. I grinned at myself greedily—and realized with amusement I was actually rubbing my fingers gleefully together like a villain in an old movie.

_Yes,_ I determined, _I would kill her_. It was easier this way on everyone. My years of misery would be over and her hours of hopelessness would be shortened.

Win—Win.

I began plotting my method, again. Quick and painless? Slow and careful? The choices were overwhelming, and I needed to get my mind wrapped around the idea. There were so many variables. The disposing of her body. My reddened eyes that I would have to hide from Carlisle during our next visit. Alice. Was she watching? Would she see this? She wasn't supposed to keep track. She assured me she never wanted to view my mind or actions again, but was it possible. She often had no more control than I did over my gift. If the family found out, no one would speak to me again…

I found myself lost in thought, only semi-aware of the stumbling girl ahead of me. The wind was picking up, and there were even some swirling flakes of snow falling from the sky. A strong gust of wind blew my hair wildly in the breeze and I stopped, suddenly aware of another sharp, familiar odor.

Panicked, I looked for Isabella and found her easily, purple and bright in the graying day. She was ahead of me still, but her pace slowed, from exhaustion, not care. I absorbed the sound of her sniffing and choking back tears, while my eyes continued to survey the area. I could smell it and hear it coming. The rhythm of its heart bold and strong, its nostrils flaring and grunting, as he also took in the smell of my prey.

And just like that, it was no longer just me hunting this girl alone in the woods. I now had competition.

I flicked my eyes back towards her. She was frozen in her spot. Aware now that she wasn't alone. She still hadn't seen me. But she did see him.

And he was deadly.

I too, was rooted to the ground, watching the events unfold. I thought I was in control, and frankly I still could be, but I knew then, this wasn't going to turn out like I'd expected.

A large mountain lion had Isabella cornered near a large grouping of rocks. I heard Isabella gasp at his presence, a wool-clad hand covering her mouth in fear. Even from my distance, I knew she was terrified. Her heart began beating thunderously and in the air I could see deep puffs of fog leaving her mouth as the heat hit the cold afternoon air.

The lion growled aggressively and took a step forward, causing Isabella to take her own step back towards the rocks. I watched, disturbed that this _lion _consider coming between me and my prey.

He took another step forward, slinky and low, continuing his approach towards her. She was cornered by the beast. Trapped against the rocks.

"_No, no, no, no, no," _I muttered under my breath, _she _was mine, not some afternoon snack for a forest creature. I'd tracked her and dreamed of her and found her and she was mine to do with as I choose and after all this time I wasn't going to lose her—

"Get away!" I heard her scream over the mental temper tantrum I was having. She was waving her arms, one step away from a full-out panic and it was only encouraging the cat to get closer. My feet finally began moving of their own volition, and I saw her take off her back pack and throw it at the lion, missing it entirely.

She tore off her gloves and her hat, tossing them at the cat lamely, whimpering in fear. I moved closer, so much closer and I watched her cover her ears with her hands, close her eyes and scream in the face of her attacker.

I was almost to her, my senses struck by her fragrance and my ears thundering with her screams, my lifeless heart almost thumping with the distress of her own. The cat, sensing my arrival, changed directions and came snarling towards me—realizing the greater threat. His massive paws searched for contact, claws extended and vengeful.

Isabella's eyes flew open, shocked at my appearance and the redirection of the threat, but before she could react, I dove between them, brushing my body against hers forcefully, before knocking the beast on its back with a loud roar, drowning out the tortured cries of my victim.

This wasn't my first mountain lion. Not even the first of the month. It only took me a moment to overpower him with my sharp teeth and claws, its blood, coating my teeth, but not quenching the thirst that still remained in my throat. I didn't drain him, his thick blood pooling on the forest floor, overwhelming my senses. I paused over his body, regaining composure, wondering how I would react to her now. What should I do?

I inhaled and caught the tinged scent of my obsession over the bloodbath of my kill and groaned. There was no way out of this, she was bleeding and beckoning me to take her, to drink her, to put us both out of our misery.

I turned slowly, determined to appreciate the moment that lie ahead, prepared to succumb to the spoils of my victory. I'd won her out right in a battle of the fittest. But what I found was not what I expected. Isabella was on the ground, head cracked against the large rock, having landed there when I'd pushed by her rashly. I felt my mouth drop as blood poured out of the wound, like an offering, across the gray slate.

She was hurt. Dying possibly…or even already dead. My hands clenched into fists at my side, and I only had one thought, one idea that flashed though my head as she lay sprawled on the ground, injured and weak, unable to fight back.

_Not her._

_

* * *

_Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts...


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to Lts29 & Bethaboo for the beta.

thank you for all the amazing reviews and support. This is well, different and you all seem ready for that ride.

I hope so.

~*~

Chapter 3

~*~

I paced wildly outside the cabin.

I had no idea what I was doing and what I even thought this would accomplish. My hands were coated in blood, _her _blood. And my shirt was soaked-the wetness seeping onto my skin.

The constant venom pooled heavily in my mouth.

I felt sick. Physically and mentally. I _was_ sick.

This was worse than ever before. So much worse.

My feet began moving and I was running, circling the house manically, rushing over tree stumps and shrubs and rotting leaves. I wanted to keep going, to just leave and disappear.

Impossible.

I knew there was nowhere to go but face my decision.

It was wrong. I'd done the wrong thing.

_What, I wondered, was the right thing?_

It was impossible to know. I'd left all sense of reason hours before.

_If, _I only had turned back. _If, _I had made a different choice. _If_, I'd run the other way.

_If…_

~*~

After I fought off the mountain lion, I turned to find Isabella lying on the ground, a large boulder under her head. I clamped my mouth shut and stopped breathing. The scent of blood was overwhelming and almost incapacitating. The sight alone was enough to make my teeth gnash and fists clench. I would have attacked her right then and there, except for the overriding fact I thought she was already dead-that the impact had killed her.

A large flake of snow landed on my face, resting on my cheek, not melting on contact as it should have. It was another painful reminder of my inhumanness. I stared at Isabella's unconscious body, pushing down the desire. I was a weak being. I'd always been. In my human life and inhuman. I took what I wanted and denied myself only as a personal challenge.

For so many years, I didn't want anything. Not this life. Not Rosalie. Not a brother or two or a sister. They grew on me, in their own way, and I used them for what they were worth. A hunting partner. An easy target. Someone to boost my ego. A true friend…

They were there and I accepted this, but I never _wanted_ any of it. Never, until that fateful day, had I desired anything other than maybe a car or a book, all which were easily within my reach.

And now, she was in my reach. Literally. Lying before me like an offering. I was overrun immediately by emotion. I stood over her in shock, staring down at her lifeless body, pale and red. Consumed by anger and upset, loss and grief. I'd longed for her for years, my life having been irrevocably changed due to her existence. And now, in the middle of the forest, she was dead, although impossibly, not by my hand.

Taking a hesitant step, I moved towards her, dropping quickly to my knees. My hand reached out tentatively, relishing the moment. I wanted to touch her. Feel her. I craved the feel of her porcelain-looking skin. My fingers grazed her cheek, drawing back immediately due to the spark of fire from contact. Her skin was still warm, but cold on the outside from the elements. She was damp, snowflakes hitting her flesh and melting instantly.

Everything around me became quiet. Only the pitter-pat of snowflakes landing on leaves, although…through my turmoil, I heard it. Low and pulsating. Moving my hand to her neck, I pushed it slightly, angling it away from the rock and looked closer. The bluish veins in her neck were visible and I could see the gentle movement under the surface. My eyes flicked to her chest and noted the infinitesimal shift of her body as it rose and fell with each breath.

She was alive. Injured, unconscious, and bleeding, but alive.

I almost leapt in celebration, although I had no idea what I was celebrating. Her life? My dinner?

Again, the options ran though my head. I could leave her. Allow her to bleed out and die a natural death-one that kept my hands clean. I could remove the carcass of the lion with the suspicious injuries I'd inflicted. She could remain here until she was located or until her body merged into the forest itself.

Or, and the simple thought ran though my body like wildfire, I could kill her, as had been my plan. Drink from her feeble body, drain her life quickly and efficiently. She wouldn't feel it. It would even possibly be a gift-to relieve the pain and misery that was sure to come as the temperature dropped and the snow continued to fall.

My eyes ran down her body as she lay before me. Her hair was wild, her purple stocking cap removed in the altercation. Her jacket wasn't heavy enough for the elements and soaking wet. She only wore jeans and brown, mud crusted boots. She was ordinary. Basic. Unmentionable.

But she tugged at my mind. I wasn't ready to let her go. _Not her_, I'd thought. I'd daydreamed and mused over this girl for _years_. I wasn't particularly convinced I could let her go so easily. This third option popped in my head and took root. Instead of killing her or letting her die, I could, in fact, take her home.

_For what?_

The angel that resided inside asked. Or was it the devil? I had no clue which one was asking and no idea what the answer was.

No, I knew was that I wasn't ready to let go. I wasn't ready to let _her_ go.

So I reached my arms out, bracing myself for her smell and her blood and her breath, and picked her up, cradling her head gently against my arms. She was so small-almost weightless.

To imagine something so small and mortal held the key to my sanity was ridiculous.

Forcing my eyes ahead, I traveled through the woods and the path I had to follow to get home. We were miles away, and I wasn't sure if I could make it without succumbing. I felt a new respect for Rosalie doing this. Carrying Emmett hundreds of miles home to Carlisle. But she had other plans. Mine were not as honorable. There were moments when I wondered if I could even get to the house before temptation took hold. Her heart beat like a tiny drum, filling the cavities of my chest. And as I climbed over dead branches and rotting logs, I ignored the blood from her head, trickling down the arm of my shirt, soaking it and dripping towards my hand.

_What was I doing? What was I doing?_ I chanted, the words echoing around my head. There was no acceptable answer.

We broke through the tree line to the house, my legs having moved faster than ever before. I needed her away from me, out of my hands, her flesh and blood needed to _get away from me. _

I needed her with me_._

The thought ricocheted through my mind. I needed her. And I knew it was true. I needed Isabella to get better. To take the pain away. I needed her with me to figure out how to carry on. I needed her deep in the forest, close to me, filling me with life and vibrations and smelling like heaven sent from above. I needed her to teach me how to resist, because if I could resist her, I could resist anything.

I needed her in case I failed. My final damnation would be at her doing and hers alone.

I climbed the steps of my house, my shoes heavy on the smooth stone surface and managed to grip the doorknob while holding her. I grunted, as I pushed the heavy wooden door with my foot to get inside, not out of exertion but out of dismay that I had her in my home--that I was really doing this.

I carried her past the couch in the living room, the green one with, tiny blue flecks that Esme bought so many years ago. We rushed by the massive, stone fireplace, with an empty mantle, no photos or knickknacks as reminders. I entered the guest room and deposited her bleeding and wounded on the small single bed that had not been used once in my recollection.

Removing the pillow, I gently placed her head directly on the mattress and stepped away and looked her over. She was pale and weak. Blood instantly smeared across the crisp white sheet that covered the padding, assaulting my eyes and nose and mouth. I needed to clean her, but now was not a possibility. I didn't have the strength. It was more than I could fathom that I actually made it here--brought her here without failing.

I almost jumped when Isabella shuddered suddenly, violently, on the bed. Her body was reacting to the warmth of the house and I wondered briefly how long she had been outside. Her lips had turned purple in the winter air and her face and cheeks were wet from the dropping snow.

She was on the edge of death and I'd _saved_ her and I wondered, pathetically, if it was possible for her to save me in return.

I started to turn from the room-the closeness of it all getting to me. But it seemed wrong. Just leaving her alone like this and the human inside me took over. I went to her side and reached for the edge of her coat, locating the zipper and tugging it down. She was too cold and too wet—if she didn't die from her injuries she would die from pneumonia, which would make this a waste—a total and utter waste. So I undressed her, pulling the coat off her arms, one at a time, I kept one hand on her neck for support, thinking back to my studies, and what Carlisle would do. Once it was removed, I grazed her ice cold fingers with my own, her gloves lying on the forest floor. I unlaced her boots and slid them off her feet, dropping them loudly to the floor. Glancing across the room, my eyes fell on a quilt, draped decoratively over the edge of a rocking chair in the corner. I grabbed it quickly and laid it across her unmoving body for warmth.

I stepped back, confused by my actions. Did I want to kill or save her? Was I keeping her alive, so I could ultimately take her life? Or was that stirring of human instinct I just felt leading me in a different direction?

Unsure, I stepped from the room in my dirty, bloodied clothes, and walked outside.

~*~

The snow was falling heavily, while I stripped the clothing off my body. I dropped them into the metal bin located behind the house that was used for burning trash or leaves, and opened the bottle I'd placed on the ground. The liquid lurched out of the top, dousing the pile of fabric and I quickly lit a match and dropped it into the soaking pile.

I'd managed to calm myself for the moment. I focused on what needed to be done and the first thing was to destroy the evidence. The flames grew quickly in the rusted bin, licking over the edge, burning rapidly and once I was satisfied the fire was contained, I walked across the back yard and into the cabin's backdoor.

I didn't acknowledge my reflection in the window. The one that showed how was wet I was from the snow, not to mention _dirty_ from my earlier activities. I also didn't acknowledge the minute sounds coming from across the cabin in the small guest room off the living area, although I did consider the fact I was completely nude and how awkward this could be if she did wake up and found me.

_Not likely_, I thought and an image of her bleeding wound and lifeless body come to my mind. Clamping my mouth shut, and holding my breath, I strode by quickly and went upstairs to my bathroom.

Once inside, I pushed the curtain back and reached for the hot water knob, flicking it with my wrist until the water gushed out. I jumped in, feeling the cold water rush over my head, then shoulders, until it turned a scalding hot.

I needed to burn the day from my body.

Reaching for the soap, I began scrubbing my flesh. It was hard and impenetrable, but I had to remove the traces of _her._ I couldn't be damaged, but this girl, Isabella, tainted me. The thick steam of the shower enveloped me, the heat pressing against me and I lathered myself repeatedly, concentrating on my hands-where her blood had seeped under my nails and into the fine lines of my skin.

"Dear God, forgive me," I muttered and rested my head on the tile wall surrounding the bath. I brought my fist up and pounded dramatically, hoping that the words would carry. It was futile, I had gone too far this time and I wasn't sure how to get back. I doubted anything could make this better.

The water continued to rain down on my back, washing away the stains of my sins. In the course of a day, I had traveled the path of many men. The hunter, tracker, killer…I couldn't even utter the name to my final act.

I sighed heavily and turned my face to the water, wishing the spray to cleanse me, purify my actions-but I knew it was useless. I could wash the blood from my hands but, the consequences of my actions would carry on indefinitely.

Shutting the water off and pulling back the thick curtain, I stepped out as the steam released around me in the damp room. I grabbed a towel from the wall, running it though my hair, before wrapping it around my waist.

Still, I was unwilling to even look at myself in the mirror; I'd seen this man before, and passed by the fogged over surface without a second glance. Even though I was now clean, I had no desire to see the monster unleashed.

I paused in the doorway, on my way back to my room, clean but dripping wet this time, and listened to the sounds of the house--checking for the steady rhythm in the adjoining room. My fingers touch the smooth painted door, feeling the vibrations that traveled though the house. It would only take me a second to get though this door and down to her room. If I allowed it.

_Her room_.

Shaking my head, I swallowed once deeply before I continued on to my room, stopping at the large chestnut dresser and quickly selecting a pair of pants and a shirt before putting them both on. I was eager to get started on the work I had waiting on me.

Distractions, as it were.

I moved silently through the house, the only sound coming from the adjoining room. Phantom butterflies filled my stomach at the thought. It was wrong, and thrilling and oddly familiar. I was disturbingly comforted by the situation I had placed myself in.

Padding barefoot across the hardwoods and thick wool rugs scattered across the floor of the cabin, I stopped momentarily to switch on the computer, before crossing the room to the books lining the wall of the room. The room filled with the sound of the computer's hum as it warmed and came to life. Standing before the bookshelf, I easily found the book I wanted, and ran my finger down the spines of several others, wondering if they would also be of use. Selecting two, I hooked my finger on the lip of the spine and removed them from their spot, flipping through them quickly, before carrying them back over to the desk. I sat down heavily in the soft brown leather chair and sighed.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into. A snap judgment in the forest had led me to this difficult place and now that I had chosen this path, there was no turning back.

_~*~_

ISABELLA SWAN.

I typed her name into the little box provided in the middle of my computer screen. I was googling her. Trying to find out what she was doing in my woods this afternoon. How she came to be there. Anything and everything there was to know about her.

I found nothing.

Well, close to nothing. A long string of Isabella Swans rambled down my screen. One owned a bakery from Texas. She had blonde hair and blue eyes from the photograph on her website. One was an Isabella Swan of the University of Idaho. Age 18. Another was a city employee in Kentucky from an article on a school fair. I found a list of profiles and clicked on each one until I finally found the one, the right one, with an image of her smiling and her bright brown eyes.

Happy eyes, not tinged in red, unworried and definitely not afraid.

I'd never seen this girl unafraid or comfortable. That day in Forks she had been under a microscope, fawned over by her classmates. Then, later, she had been subjected to my murderous glare and hostile behavior.

I lifted my fingers to the edge of the monitor and tilted it closer. She had been happy in this photograph. I could see it in her eyes and mouth. Her lips turned ever so slightly at the corners and you could see the contentedness in the depth of her eyes. I studied her face, engrossed, and moved the mouse to find out more, but was blocked by privacy settings.

The page did show me she was a student in North Carolina, Asheville, estimated to graduate next year. My eyes moved to her photograph again. I wondered, briefly, what she thought of me that first time, back in Forks. What she thought of me hours ago, when I stepped between her and the mountain lion. Did she recognize me? Did she, even for a brief moment, considered me her savior instead of what I really was?

Why this mattered I had no idea. Harshly, I tipped the screen away from me, and scowled, not wanting her pleasant eyes on me any longer. I choose a heavy book from the desk, the one I needed most and opened it. My hands gripped the edges of the wide leather book and began flipping pages quickly. I glanced at the topics, looking for the specific section I needed-that _she_ needed.

My fingers stopped when I got to the right place, hovering over the words in question. I willed this to go away. I could never change what I had done, but right now I could change the manner in which I dealt with it.

The monster inside told me to destroy and retreat and lie.

The small human part I had in me, the one I'd fought to recover, toiled over my penitence, told me to clean up my mess and make it right.

Then, the one caught in the middle-a little bit of both, encouraged me to do what I was about to do.

My finger ran over the word at the top of the page, over the description and words that could change everything, depending on the choice I made.

_Treating Traumatic Head Injuries_.

I leaned back into my seat, the leather creaking under my weight and began to read.

* * *

I'm reading two fics right now that i am in heart with: one is Mabye I'm Amazed by alicedances01- i'll put it on my faves.

and the other is Bethaboo's genuis almost canon/au Eve: Apple of my Eye.

both excellent.

thanks for the read-let me know what you think.


	4. Chapter 4

Daedalus in Exile

Chapter 4

~*~

I stood outside her door. Willing myself to go in. To do what needed to be done. She was on the other side. Injured and needing medical attention. This I could provide-assuming I didn't kill her first. I rested my forehead on the smooth wooden door and wrapped my fingers over the knob, trying to muster the courage to go inside.

I tuned my ears to my surroundings. The house hummed quietly; I'd turned up the heat so she would stay warm. Outside though, there was a stillness coating the forest. Even after dawn broke, the birds remained in their nests, waiting for another day to hunt and feed. The snow is what ultimately pulled me from my chair. I could see the bright reflective light, and was drawn to it, peeling myself out of the position I had held for hours and looked outside.

I stood at the window and peeked out the thick leaded-Glass windows. It had snowed heavily during the night, leaving a thick, white, icy blanket covering everything. At least five inches piled on the porch railing, before it toppled over onto the ground. My eyes roamed to the thermometer hanging from one of the posts, and I saw the temperature had dipped surprisingly low. Glancing to the sky, it seemed from the looks of the clouds overhead we were due for more snow before the day was over. There was an irony here somewhere. By harming Isabella the day before, I'd actually saved her. She wouldn't have survived this night alone. Not with her clothing, or her confusion, the weather, or the prey that had found her. The _other_ prey that is.

I pressed my fingers to the window, feeling the coolness biting from the other side, and turned back to face the room. My chair beckoned me. I'd sat in it all night, using it as an anchor. Now that I was up, my invisible tether removed, I walked closer to the room, listening for any changes in her heartbeat or breathing. She still lay bloodied and unclean on the other side of the door. I knew at some point I would have to go in and do _something_. I just wasn't sure of my strength.

So now I stood, gathering courage to face the battered, weak girl, who possessed me. I rolled my eyes at myself, took a deep breath and turned the knob.

Isabella was as I had left her. Head resting on a blood soaked mattress, bundled under the patchwork quilt I'd laid across her frigid body the night before. I stood in the doorway adjusting, not breathing, just absorbing the sight before me, trying to decide what to do next.

My eyes scanned the room. It was small, part of the original structure. The dark, wood-paneled walls made it seem even smaller. It was sparsely furnished, since we obviously had little use for bedrooms and their trappings. The bed, the rocker in the corner, a small table and a dresser were really the only things that occupied the room. Carlisle purchased this home in 1871. It had two rooms then. The main room which included the kitchen and this room off the side. Even then, having two rooms was quite unusual. Over the years, Esme added to it, building it into a modern retreat. Or destination of exile. Whichever was needed. I'd lived here for almost three years and had never really come into this room. I'd never had a reason.

Now, of course, that had changed.

My fingers dove into my hair, pushing through to the tangled pieces at the end, and walked to the head of the bed. I dropped quickly to my knees before I could turn away, bracing myself for her proximity. Isabella's skin was so pale, almost as pale as my own. If I hadn't heard her heart beat ringing though my ears, I would wonder if she was even alive.

Tentatively, I pushed her neck gently with just a finger, shifting her head so I could see her injury better. I winced at the sight of the wound on the back of her head. Not at the wound itself but at the matted piles of blood clotting in her hair. My nostrils flared instinctively and venom flooded my throat. Dizzy and overwhelmed, I jumped up and ran out, the house, stumbling onto the snow-covered porch, gasping for air. My hands found the railing and my fingers buried themselves in the snow, relishing the shock of the ice.

She was so sweet and alluring. So tempting... I looked behind me, half expecting her to be there. Pale, with long flowing hair. But of, course she wasn't. She was in the bed, hurt and unable to move. Waiting for me to come help her. Shame and embarrassment would have colored my features if they could have.

I was surprised at this thought. I'd moved past feeling bad about my behavior years before. Even after I'd stopped killing—it wasn't remorse that I had felt. It was exhaustion, and sickness. I'd been searching for the elusive…something I could never find and it was driving me mad.

After I had left the gas station, well fed and energized, I tore through the remains of Alaska and into the Canadian wilderness. The high was amazing. No, it wasn't the blood I craved, and there was still a lingering desire to go back and take her, but the elation from having human blood pumping through my body for the first time in _decades_ was enough.

Except, it wasn't.

After days of travel, I pulled my car into a hotel parking lot and went inside to the front desk. To my surprise, the clerk was waiting for me and offered me a key to a room, explaining that my companions had already checked in.

_Companions._

A brief look in his mind showed me an image of Jasper and Alice registering into the hotel hours before.

I accepted my key, grabbed my bags and went to face the music.

They were waiting in silence, perched next to one another on the couch. Their minds focused on distractions to keep me out when I arrived. The only way Alice and I could survive together was to learn ways to keep one another out. I kept out of her mind on occasion and she kept out of my future. It was difficult, but necessary. I also had learned to save my decisions for the last minute, keeping her predictions foggy and unsure—she, in turn, blocked my mind reading in a variety of ways.

I walked in and tossed my luggage on the bed and began rummaging inside. I hadn't bathed or changed since I'd left Denali.

"Edward…" Alice began but I walked out of the room and into the spacious bathroom to shower. I closed the door with a solid click, yet didn't twist the lock. She wouldn't follow me.

I emerged twenty minutes later, clean and changed, my hair damp from the shower. They were waiting exactly the same way, other than the fact Jasper's hand was gripping the couch end so tightly, I thought it may snap.

I dropped into the chair across from the casually, whatever it was they had to say didn't interest me, but I could pretend for their sake. I ignored the way Alice couldn't stop looking at my eyes.

Jasper and Alice looked at one another, deciding who should speak first, when Jasper took the lead, "Look Edward, you know I'm not going to judge you for this. I've done worse, the fact this is your first mishap in seventy years is impressive. But it's time to come home."

"I'm not going home."

Alice jumped in this time, frantic almost. "We won't go home. We can go anywhere you want. Back to Chicago? To your home? Or South America? You loved it there."

"No."

She stood up this time, untwining her hand from her husband's and falling to her knees before me. Jasper turned his eyes in pain, running his hand through his hair uncomfortably.

_Don't you dare hurt her._

His words pounded in my head.

"You can't do this. I've seen it. The path you're on right now will destroy you—all of us. Come back, it's not too late. Bella, she—"

I cut her off with a roar, jumping to my feet, "Do _not _mention her name!"

Before Alice could get to her feet, Jasper was between us, protectively pushing Alice aside. "You have a choice here, Edward. We always do. Carlisle taught us all that. _Don't _blow it." His words came out measured and calm, but the anger was clear under the surface.

Alice ducked under Jasper's arm and whispered, "I've seen what you'll do. Horrible, horrible things."

She presented me with a flash, accumulation of her visions, of girl upon girl, all looking like Isabella, but none actually being her. They were drained, broken, bodies--limp and red. I was there, every time, wiping my mouth of their fluids, my eyes tinged red, my face hard and emotionless.

"Stop," I directed, clutching my head in my hands, but she didn't stop—it continued on until I screamed, "Stop!"

Alice fell into Jasper's side, heaving tearless sobs, and I moved quickly across the room to gather my things. I went to the door, and pressed my head to the wood, sighing heavily.

"I'm sorry." I spoke to the air, wanting to believe the words as they crossed my lips.

I wrenched open the door and stepped onto the plush carpet that lined the floor. I made a quick exit to the stairway at the end of the long hall.

_Edward! This is bigger than you. I've seen it. You think you can escape, but __you can't…_

Alice was screaming these words in her mind and they bounced off my back, as I ran down the stairs. I didn't want her visions. I didn't need their support or their understanding.

I'd only needed to get away.

The memory stunned me as I stood on the cold porch. Alice knew even then I couldn't escape this fate. But again, we had free will—we could make our own decisions. And although I still wasn't sure where my destination was, at that moment I decided my first steps.

~*~

Taking several last gulps of air, I went back inside, and shut the door to the cold air behind me. I darted immediately up the stairs, on a mission this time, and opened the linen closet, pulling out several clean cloths and towels. Around the house, I found some alcohol and gathered two bowls--one filled with water, and went back to the guest room.

Isabella was exactly where I left her, her head still pushed to reveal her wounds. I went to her side, placing the bowls on the bedside table and the linens on the edge of the bed. Something in me altered. I felt a noticeable switch in my demeanor. As I methodically dipped the cloth into the water and began cleaning the wound, I was no longer Edward the vampire, instead I was more like I imagined Carlisle was, a doctor and healer.

Her hair was so thick and matted that I considered cutting it, but this seemed wrong, so I persevered. Using my fingers, I separated the strands of her hair and diligently wiped each piece with the cloth, ignoring the red-streaked marks left behind with each pass. Once I tugged too hard, having caught on a thick, matted section and surprised myself by whispering "Sorry," under my breath, and checked to see if the poking and prodding had roused her.

Eventually though, I removed all the sticky blood and the cut proved smaller than expected. I did notice there was a large amount of swelling and bruising across the back of her head and I wiped the cut with alcohol, hoping infection had not set in from my earlier neglect. Relieved that the wound was no longer bleeding, I still suspected she should have stitches, although I didn't have the supplies needed to perform the procedure. Instead I wrapped her head carefully with cloth and assessed the rest of her body.

Her long sleeved t-shirt was stained with blood, now dried for the most part. I had made it and the bed wet in my efforts to clean her up. Her jeans were dirty from her time in the woods and her fall and I realized, with a bit of apprehension, I needed to get rid of her clothing. The blood alone needed to be removed for her safety and my sanity.

I paused over her, unsure how to proceed. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I shifted some as I considered the task at hand. I'd never removed a woman's clothing before. I'd never even seen a woman undressed before-outside of other's minds. Seeing Isabella without clothing seemed unnatural and odd. She was my nemesis. A prize. After all this time, I'd come to possess her and stripping her of her clothing seemed almost inappropriately demeaning.

_But I was helping her,_ I rationalized, my hands fisted into tight balls in my pockets. I was acting as her doctor. She needed to be cleaned, in order to get better. I needed her clean in order not to slip up. The thought of her blood strengthened my resolve and I moved towards the bed. I reached for her shirt and reasoned it couldn't be removed over her head, not after I just cleaned and bandaged it. Taking a razor sharp fingernail, I easily sliced through the fabric, cutting it straight down the middle. I kept my eyes adverted, not looking at her stomach or her chest or the way her collarbone jutted out so sharply.

"I'm not looking," I said to the quiet room, keeping my eyes on her face. "You just need to get out of these clothes."

My voice was too loud, strange. It echoed off the hardwoods, but for some reason, I continued.

"I'm throwing away this shirt. Burning it even. Not that you could use it torn like this." I rambled about, moving my hands to the closure of her jeans, keeping my eyes locked on her smooth eyelids. "I think I can wash these pants and your coat, although your other things…it may be too…much."

Her pants came down easily, once I shifted them over her rear. I never allowed my fingers to touch her flesh, I never stopped to see the dip next to her hip, or the curved out hollow of her navel. I did notice that her legs pricked with goose bumps, her skin cold from contact with the air, and once I was finished I threw the blanket quickly back over her body.

"I'm a doctor," I stated to no one--to her. "I've been through medical school twice. Your injury is unclear, although I suspect you will wake soon. It wasn't that severe." I was trying to justify my presence, my hands on her body, the reason I kept lingering near her.

I realized belatedly that I had nothing to re-dress her in--that her backpack was left in the woods, near the remains of a mountain lion and a blood-covered rock. I also realized that I couldn't leave her in this room, on a blood-stained mattress. It would have to be removed and destroyed. Isabella would have to take up residence in another part of the house.

I sighed and whispered, "I'm going to have to move you—to another room. This one…," my eyes slid to the blood stain, "won't do."

Steadying myself, I pushed my fingers under the weight of her body, between her warm flesh and the heated sheets of the bed and lifted her up into my arms. I cradled her head in the crook of my elbow, keeping it as still as possible and carried her from the room, up the stairs and into the hallway. I paused, unsure of what to do. My room was to the left. I didn't sleep there, of course, but I used it in a variety of ways. I frowned at the proximity. This girl was now too close, entering my space, disturbing my solitude.

My eyes fluttered down to her body, hanging limply over my arms under the quilt, and I groaned. I brought her here and did this to myself.

"Well," I said aloud, "I guess this will do." And turned to the right, to the room across from my own and placed her on the bed. I ran to the bathroom and pulled towels from the racks and smoothed them under her head to keep the blood from spilling onto this mattress as well.

I stood over her. She looked smaller in this bed. It was larger, with an extravagant, ornate, iron headboard, and a thick down comforter on top. The fabric was a deep blue, causing her skin to stand out in contrast. "I should find you some clothes…" I muttered, feeling stupid for talking to her, but still feeling the compulsion to do so. It provided a distraction from my thoughts and musings. It made her human and it made me feel the same way.

I said these words but continued to hover, as though waiting for a response I knew wouldn't come. Again, I fisted my hands into my pockets and left the room, going into my own. She needed something to wear. Anything. I couldn't let her wake up naked and alone with a man. A strange man, at that. I laughed at the thought. In fact, I bent over in hysteria at the idea. _A strange man? _Yes. I was strange. But not only a man.

A predator, a murderer. An addict.

I struggled to compose myself. Leaning my body against the wall of my room, I exhaled. The last twenty-four hours had been surreal. The hunt and the girl--now I was pushing clothes around in my closet looking for something that she could wear that wouldn't hurt her head when I put it on.

It was ridiculous.

I was ridiculous. I was a raving, talking to comatose girls, kidnapping, clothes burning, doctor-faking fool.

With an audible groan, I flung the clothing aside and snatched the first button down shirt I saw off a hanger. Slamming the door behind me, I walked into the other room and stood over the blanketed Isabella and with vampire speed quickly redressed her, checked her wound one more time and walked out of the room to prepare for what came next.

* * *

A little progression. Still plan on once a week updates.

Let me know what you think.

Thanks:

to my betas Lts929~happy birthday!

And Bethaboo who has an awesome new fic out-i'll link it on my faves.

And AG who you know makes me happy (whoalsohasabirthdaycomingupbutimnotsureimsupposedtotell)

And OCD, because no matter what other people think. I think yer kinda awesome.

Oh and i have a thread on twilighted dot net-thanks cartnee! come play or ask questions if you have them

angel


	5. Chapter 5

Daedalus in Exile

Chapter 5

~*~

My boots sunk into the snow as I carried the remaining evidence from the house. The first trip was with Isabella's clothing and the bloodstained sheets from the bed. I then returned for the ruined mattress, hoisting it over my head and easing it through the back door as I squeezed through. I repeated my actions from the night before and tossed them into the metal bin to burn. I shredded the mattress and put it into the fire.

The heat melted the acrylic and polyester around the metal springs, making interesting colors and terrible chemical-based smells. I poked at the blaze with an iron rod, reveling in the heat inching across my hand, and considered the fact I would have to order another mattress for the guest room--it seemed a little too conspicuous at the moment. The only one who really ever visited me was Carlisle, but he would notice the difference immediately.

Carlisle….that was something I would have to deal with. He definitely couldn't come to the house while Isabella was here. But asking him not to come would tip him off to something being wrong. We'd always been so close, even during my slips, he was there for me, if not actually supportive of my choices. We had struggled through the last several years, only recently our mutual trust having been rebuilt. I wasn't prepared to let him down.

I picked up a rock from the ground and threw it like a bullet into a tree across the lawn. It landed with a crack and I watched as the impact shook hunks of snow off the branches.

No. There was no way Carlisle could find out about this. This situation would damage our relationship beyond repair, _if_ he found out about it. Not until I decided what I was doing anyway, and even then it was too risky. To have her _here_, in the house, would be a deal breaker and he would see through me in a second.

I could admit to myself that it appeared I wasn't going to kill the girl right away. By not making a decision, I seemed to have made one anyway. I'd let her live this long--even cleaning and making her comfortable. The actions confused me and conflicted with my nature, but I still couldn't let her go. I wouldn't. But in order to keep her alive I was going to have to get further supplies--food, medicine, and clothing. I also needed to go back to where she had fallen and pick up her backpack--leaving it out there could be dangerous and bring about suspicion if anyone found it.

Once the fire burned to the metal, I went back inside to check on her--knew leaving her was a major risk. She should be in a hospital, having been comatose for more than a day. But that wasn't a possibility. I would have to take the chance, get her back pack and head to town on foot.

I went to her room and found her in the same position as before--unconscious. Walking to the bedside I checked her wound and realized it was bleeding again. Holding my breath to keep the temptation at bay, I knew I had to get the necessary supplies to stitch her up and then medication for infection. I stretched out two fingers and gently placed their backs on her forehead, and confirmed she was indeed warm, her temperature burning under my cool touch.

I stood and looked around the room, anywhere but at her, ] and rubbed my chin with my palm. Surprising myself, I began speaking again. "I'm going out. To get you medication and something to stitch up that cut. I won't be long—maybe an hour or so…" My words hung limply in the otherwise quiet room. Strangely, I wished she could respond--that she could talk back to me.

_Why?_ I wondered_. So I could tell her I kidnapped her? That I wasn't planning on letting her go? That for some reason just having her around made me feel better—like I had the world's most valuable treasure holed up in my spare room?_

I dropped my head into my hands and groaned, rubbing my eyes, almost wishing if I rubbed hard enough then the room and Isabella would disappear.

They didn't.

I turned and left the room, but not before whispering into the quiet room, "I'll be back soon."

~*~

When I reached the area near the rocks, I easily found Isabella's backpack. Unfortunately, something else had found it before me.

"Crap," I muttered under my breath, assessing the damage that was obviously inflicted by an animal. The wrappers from the food she ate would have lured a variety of creatures to investigate. The bag was torn in several places and her personal items were strewn about the forest floor. Aware that my time was limited, I rushed around and found everything I could, stowing it back inside before slinging the straps over my shoulders and taking off towards town.

By the time I reached the outskirts of the small town, it was dark, the lamp lights having already turned on. The snow was beginning to fall again, and traffic was light due to the weather, causing the commercial district to appear almost deserted. I rarely shopped in town, primarily because I didn't need much. I only came for the supplies I needed for my projects, although in reality, I tended purchase most items on the internet. There were fewer complications that way--less interaction.

I stood on the street corner and assessed my options since my choices were limited in this town and particularly at this time of day. There were several high-end boutiques, touristy types, which were closed and unnecessary. The pharmacy was also closed, but they wouldn't have clothing anyway, and I'm sure their medical supplies were guarded and they had security cameras. My goal was to get out of town as quickly as possible and with little notice. I needed to get it all in one place, if I could.

The wind shifted at that moment and I smelled the unpleasant odor of mothballs and polyester and dog. I glanced down the street and saw an older woman walking a small dog coming in my direction. I realized with irritation what I was going to have to do.

"Excuse me," I heard the words purr out of my mouth, while forcing my lips into an upward curl as she came closer. In her mind, she was focused on my attractiveness and youth, although I saw her look at my teeth more than once.

Her dog growled and snapped at my ankles.

"Sorry, about my dog, he's usually very friendly," she apologized, not realizing her dog was protecting her from the potential beast in front of her.

"No worries," I said, raising my voice over the ruckus at my feet. "Can you tell me where I can find a store that sells clothing and food and medicine…you know, like a general store?"

Her brow narrowed for a moment and an image of a large, rectangular building popped in her head. "Like Walmart?"

Walmart. _Yes. I'm an idiot_.

"Why yes, exactly. Do you know if there is one near here?" I asked, trying to pretend not to be the total bumbling fool I truly was while this woman's dog chewed on my pant leg.

The woman lifted a glove-Covered hand and pointed down the street. "About two miles that way, on Church Street." My eyes followed her hand, feigning interest. I could have been there by now, but was trying to be polite.

I nodded my head and grinned, offering her my thanks before moving—humanly---down the street. With a quick look over my shoulder, I saw she had turned the corner. I used the opportunity to duck behind a building, and took off in my more comfortable darkness towards the store.

In minutes I was there, slowing my pace, as I walked across the salted parking lot under the glare of zapping yellow lights and the shadow of a massive white and blue building. It looked loud. And crowded. And it had really bright florescent lights glowing from the windows. I could already hear the rumbling of thoughts from the customers inside, too many to separate, too mindless to consider. I thought about how I used to attend school with over two hundred students. I had few issues then. I was able to block it all out. It had been many, many years since I had been in such a situation of sensory overload.

_Why was I doing this?_

The image of Isabella, comatose on the bed, flashed before my eyes.

_Because I have no will power and a complete and utter lack of self control._

Ah…yes. There it was.

Reality stuck me hard at this thought and I walked past the mechanical doors, waddling men and women, screaming children and into retail hell.

~*~

Close to an hour later, I emerged from the store, back onto the wet parking lot and took a deep, cleansing breath.

_That_ was horrible.

I thought I could run in and out, getting everything quickly and efficiently. This was not possible. Walmart, it seemed, actually did carry everything. I was amazed yet alarmed at the options available in such a setting. There were racks and racks of clothing, different sizes and shapes. Not to mention the rows of food. I was sure I had never purchased food before. Ever. Even before this lifetime.

I forced myself to gather these things in my large plastic cart as I rolled it through the store. Isabella needed clothing to wear and food to eat. I wished for a brief moment I could call Alice and ask her for assistance…what exactly did humans eat? Meat? Fruit? Overwhelmed, I began filling the cart with what I could, aware of the fact I had to carry it on my back and over a fair distance back home. Once I finished with the necessities, I found the long aisle of medical and first aid supplies. I paced the row, intrigued by the variety of band aids, antiseptic, gauze and aspirin. There were so many choices. I fumbled in the aisle for over twenty minutes, trying to figure out what exactly I needed.

Desperately, I searched for a suture kit. Bella's head needed stitching so it would heal. I had needles and thread at the house in the small sewing kit in the laundry room. I figured I could use that, if necessary. As I studied my purchases, I heard my description in another's mind.

_Looks like he could use some help…what a wide variety of medical supplies…_

These words were followed by an image of me reading the back of a bottle of pain killers.

I glanced up and saw an older man in a white coat walking towards me. The stitching on his pocket identified him as the pharmacist.

I smiled lightly in his direction and dropped the bottle in the basket, turning to leave. The last thing I wanted was to be noticed.

"Excuse me, son, do you need some assistance?" His kind voice asked. He was behind me, and I stopped my movements, and listened to his thoughts.

_He's so young, I can't imagine what he would need all this for…_

He was curious. But, not suspicious. I turned and smiled again. "I think I've got everything."

The pharmacist looked around my shoulder and into the cart. "Looks like you're planning on quite a rough time. Is someone hurt?"

I kept my expression calm and my demeanor casual. "Hurt?" I laughed, forcing him to smile in return. "No, I'm going on a camping trip with my friends. I'm in charge of the first aid…I wasn't sure what to buy. Better safe than sorry…right?"

Mr. Pharmacist nodded with understanding and an idea came to mind."Sir, last time my friends and I went camping, one of them got a midsized cut on their hand…while pitching the tent. We were up on the Trail and far from help or a doctor. Do you have any suggestions for this type of injury if it happens again?" I almost couldn't believe the words as they came out of my mouth.

I watched as he nodded again, humming a bit in thought. "Well, I doubt you or any of your friends would be interested in suturing someone up. It's intense and hurts. Plus, you have to have a good bit of strength."

I suppressed a laugh at this. Little did he know I could pick him up right now and launch him across the length of the building with one hand.

He continued, "But, there is a trick that comes in handy. If you take a tube of Super Glue and gently coat the wound, it will keep it safe and sterile until you can get it to a doctor."

Interesting. "Um…can you point me in the direction of the 'Super Glue'? Just in case?"

He showed me the right direction and aisle number. I threw three packages in my cart before heading towards the check-out area. Once finished, I stepped out in the parking lot and shoved the packages into Isabella's backpack.

I crossed town quickly, snow crunching under my feet and slipped back into the forest. I wondered what waited for me at home. A sleeping girl? An angry awake woman? A nightmare I couldn't get out of? I wasn't sure, but I had little choice but to find out.

~*~

The house sat in the woods like a picture from a book or magazine. The window ledges coated in snow, soft light trickling from the frosted panes. No one would ever imagine the reality. A monster lived inside, one with a deep, dark secret. A monster that just dug himself a hole he would probably never make it out of. A monster who buys food and clothing and medical supplies at Walmart for the girl he has tucked away inside.

It was so quiet outside the cabin. The snow brought about that muffled silence only it can produce.

As I moved closer to the house I was filled with a deep hunger and excitement. The feelings were unusual. Over the past five years, nothing satisfied me. For the last two, nothing in this life excited me. It was monotonous, exact, orchestrated, and tedious.

I raised my eyes to the upper floor and settled them on the frosty window of her room. Nothing about this girl has ever been dull.

Not for me.

Standing in a deep drift of snow, the large flakes pelting my head and shoulders, I paused, knowing once I stepped inside the door I would actively change my role from pursuer to protector. And I wasn't sure how I felt about this. I never consciously decided to help her--not really--my actions had been to help myself. I'd cleaned her so her blood wouldn't be so appealing. I'd changed her to hide the evidence. I'd cradled her neck so she wouldn't die before I had the chance to take her life _my_ way. But I knew, once I walked in the door, with a bag of food and clothes and medical supplies, I would have turned a corner, made a choice, and there would be no backing away from it.

I wanted her. _Her_, I thought. Not necessarily her blood. I wanted to surround myself with her fragrance and aroma. I wanted to bask in her possession. I'd searched the world over for this one treasure and now she was in my home. And she was mine. And I realized, with a small bit of horror and confusion, I wasn't prepared to let her go.

What happened next was a surprise even to myself. With a snow-soaked body, and mud crusted-boots, I took a decisive step on the pristine floor of the porch. My hand eagerly wrapped around the knob of the door and twisted.

I'd decided.

The heat felt nice, and I quickly peeled off my wet clothes, dropping them to the floor in a soggy pile, along with the backpack. I wanted to see her--to check on her.

Quickly, I reached in for the medical supplies and ran to the steps, my feet pounding eagerly. At the bottom, I could hear her heart, beating calmly, although a bit stronger than before, which caused a flare up in my throat. I took the steps three at a time, the bag swinging at my side, and reached the top, moving directly to her room.

Beat….beat….beat…

The rhythm of her heart picked up with each step.

_The rhythm of her heart picked up with each step._

My foot stopped abruptly mid-air. She heard me. She heard me coming. Isabella was awake.

My mouth was already shut, blocking her odor from my taste buds, but I instinctively pursed my lips tighter.

_She was awake_.

And her heart, it beat faster because….she was afraid? Excited? Curious? I listened again, this time taking in her labored breaths, quick and sharp.

Afraid.

My hand reached out to steady itself on the wall, fingers splayed, wide and firm.

I searched futilely, one last time, for some hint of her mind, of her thoughts, but again, nothing. Simply nothing.

Other fears tickled my brain. Would she remember me? My family? Would she fear my skin, my touch, the look of hunger evident in my eyes? Would she cry? I wasn't sure how Isabella crying would make me feel. Normally when the crying began and I would halt it, extinguish it as I fed--sucking the very life out of the weeping, dark-haired, inferior girls.

This one wouldn't be inferior.

I imagined her tears tasted sweet, and her sobs sounded like a chorus of angels. I imagined that the minute I turned the corner into her room recognition would flare through her eyes and this entire game would be over.

And then, what would I do? If she recognized me? Ageless and unnatural…

I dropped my hand from the wall and took the three human steps it required to get to the doorway and stepped into the space, facing her for the first time, prepared for the consequences.

The scene before me was much as I expected. Isabella was curled, painfully, on the bed, her hand touching her head, her expression twisted in pain. Her eyes, though… They were different. They widened at my arrival. Expecting me, but not expecting _me._

I stood in silence, the room a void of sound or thought. Facing Isabella unconscious was one thing. Awake, an entirely different situation. I did the only thing I could, I mustered up my inner Carlisle. The trained doctor inside--the one with a bedside manner and a calming effect.

I took a falsely confident step toward the bed, and I expected her eyes to follow me but instead they fluttered closed. Relief washed over me the minute her eyelids shut and I was able to get to the edge of the bed. I crouched by her side and could feel the heat rolling off her body. She was feverish, I could tell without even touching her, and I reached in the bag for the medication I had purchased for this reason.

"Who…" she slurred, gaining my startled attention.

Her hand was out, touching my arm, her eyes only half open and unfocused. I peered into them for recognition, but found nothing but fever and confusion.

"I'm…" my name stuck in my throat, glued by fear, "I'm here to help you. I'm a doctor." The lie came easily, but they always did.

"Hmmm…" was her only response, and her eyes closed again, although her fingers still gripped my shirt tightly.

I looked down at them, threaded tightly into the fabric, small and delicate. My hand hovered over hers for a moment, aware of the contrast. Mine was large—almost enormous next to hers, and strong. I gently pried hers loose, one finger at a time, my hand scorching from the contact with her skin.

I held it for a moment. Stroking the inside of her palm with my thumb, wondering how this would all turn out. Surely, not well.

Resting her hand on her stomach, I focused on my work ahead. I needed to close her wound, reduce her fever and simply attempt to keep her alive.

Because that was now my goal; keeping Isabella Swan alive until I figured what to do next.

* * *

Thanks to lts29 for beta work. she has a new fic on my faves...check it out.

And to Houroflead who read this for me and made me think harder. ouch. AG gave me a fab shout out on the Fictionators blog last week. It was too much.

Thank you for the great reviews I read and appreciate every one. Hope you liked this one too....I promise the meat of the story will start next chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

Daedalus in Exile

~*~

The contents of the trashcan beside the bed would be the next thing to get stuffed in the burning barrel. I worked diligently on Isabella, depositing bloody pieces of cloth and hair and bandages as I treated her wound.

I spent the better part of an hour re-cleaning and prepping Isabella's cut for the glue treatment. During that time, I discovered a variety of scars, including one rather large one close to the new one. This girl had more than one run-in with death.

Isabella was on her stomach—I'd rolled her over to get a better view of her cut. I realized I was going to have to cut a large area of her hair from the back of her head in order to seal it properly. My fingers hesitated before I snipped large chucks out of her thick hair—I hated cutting it—it was nice and soft.

I'd even considered smelling it but thought better.

I shook these frivolous thoughts out of my head and began cutting carefully around the wound. My fingers were steady and sure, even though the proximity of her body and the heat from her body and the scent of her blood was permeating the air. Holding the super glue in my teeth while I pushed the wound together with two fingers on one hand, my strength and agility useful, and squeezed the glue carefully onto the wound. I studied it, impressed at this trick I had learned and wished more than once I could call Carlisle to gloat.

While I tended her wound, Isabella woke several more times, totally disoriented. I used the opportunity to crush up some fever reducer and have her drink it with water though while she was awake. It wasn't enough though. I was going to have to go back to town and procure some antibiotics for the infection. This wouldn't be an issue if I had taken her to the hospital. If I had done the right thing. But instead I choose to hide her here, in the perfect solitude of my home.

Humans, it would seem, really are fragile beings. I realized, belatedly perhaps, that I needed to be aware of dehydration and the fact she would need to eat sooner than later. The thought of preparing food for her wasn't pleasant and I pushed it aside for later.

After I was finished, and her fever began to fade, I placed an ice pack behind her head and sat in the arm chair across from the bed. Her color was returning, although I could see the chapped skin peeling from her lips, and the dry sheen covering her chin and cheeks from the cold weather outside. Further sign of dehydration and abuse from the elements. While she regained consciousness, I watched as she twisted in the bed, struggling against demons in her sleep. Curious, I pushed myself forward unnecessarily, grasping for any clue as to what transpired in her steel trap of a mind.

I was rewarded with one, "ouch," and another, "shhhh…look…my hat…" Her forehead creased into lines when she said this. The rambling went on for a while, although most of it was nonsense as far as I could tell. Again, I was blocked to her mind. This girl was giving me nothing, and I felt a little indignant about it. I had access to every mind I crossed, waking or asleep. She was closed to me, and she was barely conscious _and_ she spoke gibberish when she slept. I considered for a moment whether she was doing it on purpose somehow.

She settled into a deeper sleep, no longer talking, just breathing heavily, resting and repairing her tired body. I took the opportunity to go out and destroy the debris from earlier. On the way back in I picked up the mess I'd left when I came home, tossing my coat over the back of the kitchen chair. I put away the food and toiletries I had purchased and quickly dashed back upstairs to leave the clothing I'd found for Isabella in her room when she was ready. I had a sudden and inspired realization when I laid down her backpack that maybe I did have some insight—I was just looking in the wrong place. I eyed the bag which was filled with Isabella's belongings and I felt the smile widen across my face. There should be something—anything inside the bag, that would provide me answers to some of her mysteries. Excited by the thought, I carried the pack over to the armchair and began searching it as soon as I sat down.

With only a cursory glance to confirm Isabella was still fully asleep, I began pulling her belongings from the depths of the bag. The top layer was her hat and gloves I'd salvaged from the forest floor. They were still wet with mud and snow from the outdoors. Sniffing them lightly, I placed these items quickly on the floor next to the chair and returned to the bag. What I found would probably only be interesting to me, but I was desperate for any information at all about the woman lying in my bed.

Carefully, I took out each item and studied it. I extracted her water bottle, almost empty. It was blue and clear, and I could see the fine smudges of her finger prints over the plastic shell. There was the wrapper from the snack I had watched her eat. The information on the side of the package said it was made from peanut butter and oats. The smell, even now, was strong and I made a note to remember she likes peanuts. I continued and found a small first aid kit—unopened--a small mirror, a wadded up ball of shoe strings, a flashlight, a small roll of toilet paper and a Swiss Army Knife.

I also noted, with a hint of amusement, a crumpled up map of the area shoved in the bottom of the bag. From all appearances, it seemed she tried to do this the right way. The items were odd, but all seemed to have a variety of uses if one got in trouble.

Considering the trouble wasn't a blood thirsty vampire or a hungry mountain lion that is.

The room was still quiet as I repacked the supplies, topping them off with the hat and gloves from the floor. The zipper made a loud noise as I closed up the bag as best as I could with the rip on one side. The bag carried the faint scent of coyote, and I figured one must have found it after we left.

Satisfied with my first search, I moved to the smaller pouch on the front and quickly opened it, hopeful to find more personal items in the more confined space. Inside was a brown leather bound book, stamped with intricate designs and wrapped with a heavy cord tied at the side. I dropped it in my lap, and continued further down where I found a tube of lip balm and a small red, zippered wallet nestled in the bottom.

My fingers clutched the wallet eagerly and pulled it out. This was what I'd been looking for. I began pulling out the items from inside. Two credit cards—one issued by a bank here in North Carolina—a student ID from UNCA, and a driver's license, issued by the State of Washington. Her address was listed as her father's and a flickering image of the small white house cushioned by the dark forest sprang to mind.

I took out the small amount of cash and coins stashed in the wallet and found a photograph of a much younger Isabella with a woman who shared her looks. I flipped it over and in girlish, looping handwriting it said, "Renee and Bella--Grand Canyon 1990."

I returned the photograph to its slot in the wallet, and thumbed my way through the others. I found a business card or two, nothing really of interest, but in the last space I saw a tattered piece of news print, folded many times over, and dug it out. The paper was no longer exactly gray, it had turned a little brownish at the edges and as I unfolded it carefully, I saw that it was a clipping from the Forks Examiner. It was a list of graduates from Forks High School, class of 2006. I scanned the page, finding Alice's name first—this wasn't a total surprise. I knew they continued on there the same way, waiting for me to make a better choice before they threw their current way of life away and left Washington. I passed by the others I vaguely recalled, Tyler Crowley, Lauren Mallory, Michael Newton, Angela Weber…all faces in the crowd. They should have meant more to me, but they were lost in a haze of bloodlust and desire. While they were going to prom and football games and graduation parties, I was searching the globe to quench my thirst. The irony was that the solution to my problem was sitting right there--amongst the ghosts of my past.

There was a photograph at the bottom of the page. The paper was faded, and a sharp crease marred the middle making it difficult to see, but the names of the photographed were listed across the bottom. I did a double take when I read them. I held the paper up, in an attempt for a better view and gasped, my normally steady fingers shaking at the image in front of me. It was Isabella, head tilted, with a seemingly genuine smile on her face, typical graduation cap askew on her head and a long burgundy gown covering her body.

It was graduation day and she was happy. She looked truly happy. But this wasn't the concern or the problem or the reason my mind was reeling. In the aged and weathered picture, Isabella had two arms tightly latched around her middle, hugging her tightly--the way friends would show affection. But the friend wasn't Angela Weber or Jessica Stanley or Michael Newton. The caption, under the photograph explained the situation in its entirety. And the expression on their faces only confirmed it.

_Isabella Swan and Best Friend __Alice Cullen Celebrate Graduation Day in Forks_

_~*~_

I stared at the scrap of paper for countless minutes. Alice and Isabella knew each other, and apparently were "best friends."

I was stunned. And shocked. And overwhelmingly annoyed. This woman lying across the bed was _mine._ She had been since the moment I inhaled her mouthwatering scent in that classroom. How dare Alice stake a claim to her. How dare she speak to her and fool her and lure her into her good graces.

Alice--who had shunned me, and turned me away. Was this why? The paper twisted in my fingertips. Is this why she hadn't wanted me to return, because she chose her over me?

The possibilities ran amuck in my mind. Surely this meant Jasper knew her and … Carlisle…he knew her this whole time. Surely Isabella knew her best friend's father. My father.

The betrayal ran deep.

In my mind I began calculating. How long would it take for me to get there, to their home to confront them…maybe half a day? Maybe less…I could call. Carlisle would answer my call--as it would be rare. I'd never even done it before...never. He only came when previously arranged.

My mind was moving too quickly, my hands were too tense--one was still clenching the paper while the other grasped the arm of the chair…but if I contacted them what would I say.

"_I know you were friends with her…my demon, my prey, my tormenter. How? How do I know? Because I have her unconscious on my bed, wounded and lame….and no… no, I don't plan on letting her go."_

That conversation wouldn't go well.

My thoughts were halted by a sudden thudding in my ears, and I looked across the room. It was her body--signaling Isabella's shift in heartbeat, and with speedy fingers I folded the paper and stowed it away in the wallet, piling it and her other belongings into the pouch.

I stood, moving closer to the bed and watched with interest as Isabella moved her arms and legs a little and her mouth opened and closed as though she was trying to speak.

With her eyes closed, she moved her hand gently to her forehead and mumbled, "Ugh, my head…"

I reached my fingers down to feel her forehead, wondering if she was still feverish and if she needed anymore medication. When my too cold hands touched her too warm skin, her eyes popped open, causing my hand to withdraw.

Confusion filled her features but I waited, wanting to hear her speak first. Would she recognize me? If so, what would she say?

"Where am I?" she rasped, her hand resting on her under-used throat. I reached over and gave her a glass of water, helping her lift it to her mouth.

She drank a little, much of it dribbling down her chin since she was lying down. I wiped the drips off with the quilt covering her body. She looked at me questioningly and I realized it was my turn to speak.

"You're at my house," I said softly. It was too low, but she seemed to hear anyway.

"Who are you?" she asked. Her questions made me deliriously happy. She didn't remember me. Not yet, at least. I almost sighed in relief.

"I'm Edward. I found you in the woods." _I want to eat you. Drain you. Suck the very life out of you…but I didn't…well, not yet._

Her eyes narrowed as if she tried to catch a thread of her memory. "Why was I in the woods?"

Why indeed.

I shrugged. Honestly, I had no idea.

Her heart rate picked up minimally—although I wasn't sure why. "And you…"

I waited while she worked out her thought. I wouldn't be putting words in her mouth—I needed to know what she remembered.

"You saved me?" Her eyes were locked on mine. I couldn't read her mind, but I knew the look. She was alarmed at their color, the difference from most people. It didn't help that I was gawking at her and hadn't taken a breath in more than two minutes.

I nodded and swallowed while shifting on my feet innocently, realizing I needed to move. In my interest toward Isabella I had forgotten to act…human. I was out of practice and this may be more difficult than I had considered.

"You were in an accident in the forest. I found you injured and brought you here," I explained. I used my most soothing voice and made eye contact, using my charms to calm her. I could hear her heartbeat slowing, confirming that I hadn't lost all my abilities with humans.

She looked around the room, confused and a little disoriented. "Did you say your name?"

For the second time I replied, "My name is Edward, Isabella."

She nodded as though she remembered but then her brows furrowed and she murmured, "Isabella?"

It was posed as a question.

There was a moment of utter quiet in the room as I tried to decipher her words. Did she go by another name?

"Who's Isabella?" She said again, the confusion still evident on her face.

I lowered myself to her side, where I could see her and again put my fingers to her face—feeling for fever—again she flinched under my touch.

"You--are Isabella," I declared, pulling my fingers back, feeling the lingering burn on the tips.

She ran a hand over her hair nervously, it was completely disheveled, and she winced once she came close to the wound.

"Ouch. Crap that hurts," she muttered. "_Isabella_…are you sure?"

I almost couldn't speak. I _was_ sure. More than sure. My nose and other senses were better than any DNA test money could buy. And if that wasn't enough, I had found the picture ID in he wallet with her name on it. _Isabella_ was who I had been running from—or _to_ for the last five years.

Yes, this was Isabella lying in front of me. I knew this but, who did she think she was?

I leaned towards her, inhaling her scent for my own confirmation, feeling the unique burn coat my throat and asked, "What do you remember? Before now…the woods? The accident? Your life…?"

The question hung in the air as the words that should have formed easily in Isabella's mouth failed. She was searching for my answers but in her groggy, injured state nothing would come.

I knew her response before she said it but I waited…wondering how she would say it, how she would react. And finally, with fear and watery tears in her eyes she whispered, "I don't remember anything."

* * *

OOOKay.

yeah, that was short. But this thing is just coming to me this way.

thank you to my beta Lisa and HourofLead for helping me also.

Thank you Feathers_mmmmm for the redonkculous pimp out on Wallbanger. good grief. your readers love you.

AG of course who has to listen to all my wild ideas and is my biggest supporter.

And wow, the reviews and support I am getting is impressive! thanks so much! I read every review and a couple of you guessed i was going this way...we'll see though...


	7. Chapter 7

Daedalus in Exile

Chapter 7

~*~

Bella, it seemed, had no memory.

It became apparent minutes after she awoke that her foggy mind wasn't just a result of her unconsciousness. It was a tad bit more severe.

Permanent? Possibly. Temporary? More likely, from everything I had read.

This turn of events was unexpected and, if it was a curse to her, it was more of a blessing to me.

Her memories would make all of this much more difficult. I needed time. I needed to know how she and Alice became friends. I needed to know what she was doing out here. I needed to know what, if anything, she knew about me. Did she know about our family? What we were?

These questions were important but what _I_ really needed was to figure out exactly what I was going to do with _her_ in the end.

But for now, it was clear; Bella had no memory, of who she was, or where she was from, or what she was doing here.

She definitely had no memory of me.

The irony, of course, was that while she had no recollection of her short but, most likely, uneventful life, I had too many.

There were certain things I stuck out more in my mind than others. That day in biology stood out above most. Next would be waking up to the golden eyes of my creator, Carlisle. Hearing, smelling and tasting…everything.

Then, would be the realization that my birth mother and father were dead and gone, but that I was also dead, although not gone. Yes, that one stood out painfully.

I could recall the days when the others entered our family. Esme, Rose and Emmett all a hair away from death.

Carlisle "saved" them as he "saved" me.

Luckily, he crossed our paths. Possibly as lucky as Isabella had been to cross mine.

Then there was Alice and Jasper--who joined our make-shift family by choice. I remember coming home and they were just…there. Acclimated and living in my room. I would have been angry if I had felt anything but indifference.

I remember other events--human ones--the days leaders were killed, the days buildings collapsed. The beginnings and endings of wars.

There were other types of memoires. The nicer ones. The first time I heard a song, or read a book, or saw a movie with Cary Grant.

Then there were others. The ones I tried not to remember, but, that remain etched into my memory for eternity. It was the cross that I had to bear. The most glaring was the first time I had tasted human blood.

I remembered every time I tasted human blood.

It was my equivalent of love at first sight. Or kissing a girl on her father's porch, or making love to the woman I would marry—holding the children we would produce.

I didn't have those memories. But I retained the feelings and thoughts and moments of every life I took. The look in their eyes as realization took hold, the sound of my teeth as they punctured their flesh, the feel of their mouths under my hand as I stifled their screams. These were burned into my brain. Normally, I pushed them back. As part of my recovery I wasn't supposed to relive them or…relish them. Carlisle told me I was better than this, and that I had to let it go, offer it up in order to move on.

But sometimes it was too hard.

Today was too hard.

Five years ago I had made my second kill. The cashier's blood had waned and the hunger was coming back. At first, I thought I could resist. That Alice's visions at the hotel were false. That I just needed to be away from my family and _stay away from_ _her__--_that I wasn't really going to go off the bend and continue my destruction.

I was very, very wrong.

It began the night when I took a walk through the streets of Vancouver. It was freezing--snow piled high on the curbs. I craved fresh air and movement. The wind was blowing and men and women on their way about town walked briskly, heads down and hands shoved tightly in their pockets. The smell of car exhaust and food coated the air. It wasn't fresh nor what I desired. The scents were unappealing and the people were even worse. Nothing smelled good to me after her. I was coming to the realization that Isabella Swan had ruined food for me.

_Bitch._

I passed shop after shop, window after window, barely registering the scene in front of me. I was hungry and annoyed. I knew I needed to get out of the city and back to the thick forests that made up the better part of this country. I needed a bear, or an antelope, or even a deer, I needed—

_That._

I paused and flared my nostrils.

_That was what I need._

My body paused, and I inhaled deeply. The scent tickled the back of my throat, indicating the rush of venom about to tumble down in waves. I looked around for the owner, the person who possessed the lovely fragrance of flowers and soap and girl.

Just then, someone opened the door to my right, and a wonderful rush hit me across the face from inside. I peered into the glass door. It was a boutique. A highend shop for wealthy men and women who had money to spend frivolously. People like me.

I grasped the handle and pulled, and my ears were assaulted by hip music and the meandering thoughts of people in the shop.

Posing as a buyer, I wandered the aisles, touching the soft fabric of a coat or the silk collar of a shirt. Leaving traces of myself--_marking my territory_--as I circled my prey.

Because I'd spotted her.

She was standing alone, admiring herself in the mirror, fondling the buttons on a stylish gray coat. Her hair was brown. A bit dark perhaps, but brown, and shiny, waving down to her shoulders. Her skin was olive, but smooth, and her dark red nails clicked as they touched the large plastic buttons down the front of the coat.

She was inferior but acceptable.

And, predictably, she noticed my charming good looks from across the store.

In her mind, I saw her take me in, catching me in the reflection of the mirror. She assessed my height and my chiseled features. Her fingers twitched, desperate to run through my hair. To tame it--tame me.

She had no idea.

I turned way, playing coy and I saw her eyes lingered over my shoulders, imagining for a moment what they looked like under the heavy fabric of my coat. She was intrigued and interested, providing me with the only opening I needed.

Without delay, I made my approach. I passed by her nonchalantly, fingering a row of scarves near the mirror. We made eye contact and shared a quick, cordial grin.

"You look nice in that color," I said quietly, but allowing my voice to carry over the music and other customers.

She smiled shyly. But her mind wasn't shy. It was bold and forceful. She wanted me.

This would be easier than expected.

"Thank you," she replied, her hands smoothing the ends of her hair. "I think that one," she began, and I observed her as she reached bravely over my hands and tugged at a dark gray scarf, "would look nice with your skin."

She smiled and I licked the edge of my lip, tasting the flowers and the soap and the girl on my tongue. I inclined my head, inching it towards the door and her mind reflected back the arch of my eyebrow and the innocent curve of my lips.

She tried to act only mildly interested, but her heart was beating erratically and she was mentally cataloguing the color of undergarments she had worn that day.

Ivory, it would seem, but that was of little interest to me.

I walked out of the store, luring her easily behind me. She did have the presence of mind to not rush after me, but to hold back a moment and come at her own leisure.

She liked to play games.

I waited outside the door, my back to the wall. I wasn't in a hurry. I could wait. I had the patience of Job. In fact, I had the patience of Edward Cullen. I could probably give Job a run for his money. The door swung open, leaving me with a burst of warmth and her scent. She stood on the sidewalk and scanned both ways, her eyes finally resting on mine.

"Hi," she said, her hand twisting in the sash around her waist. "I'm Catherine."

"Edward," I told her, the sound of my voice soft and kind. I reached out my hand and gave her the offer she should have refused. "Would you like to take a walk with me?'

Of course she said yes.

This recollection, like all the others, haunted my days. I was supposed to hate it. I should've been repulsed. I was supposed to bury the memories about what happened after she took my hand and I lead her through the park. I should have had remorse for the sound she made when she realized those weren't just my lips on her neck, but something harder and sharper and deadlier. But, instead of remorse, I have perfect recall of every second of her death.

The way she begged me for her life, offering me things I would never want. How her slim fingers and manicured nails gripped into the lapel of my coat, fighting uselessly. How her smell went from mildly fragrant to enticingly delicious as fear raced though her body. Even as she soiled herself--urine soaking through the layers of her pants, it only heightened the experience, solidifying the moment in my mind forever.

But although the memories were clear the emotions were conflicted. The rush of excitement, the regret, the power, the awareness of the sad emptiness of her eyes as they glazed over in death.

My regret wasn't over her death. It was over the fact, once again, that I was left craving more--something different. She was, as I knew before I took her, mediocre.

I dropped her body in the snow, easily seen behind some bushes and walked away. I was buzzed and riding high, full but not satisfied, aware that I would do this again. At that moment, I began rationalizing my behavior. Was what I did really wrong? Was I really a monster among monsters? I was what I was. I was a vampire. A killer of men and women. I used them to survive. My family's way, the Cullen way, was the anomaly. They were the ones who lived like freaks. My "rebellions" weren't rebellious at all. I gave in to my basic needs.

_Except._

Except I didn't just kill for food. Or for survival. I killed because I was obsessed—possessed even. I was singularly focused on one thing.

Satiating the craving _she_ had sparked in me.

~*~

Isabella was sleeping. But her movements were different from before. She was no longer unmoving--unconscious. Her actions had an effect throughout the house. Her scent was stronger due to her stirring. Every time she turned or rolled or shifted across the mattress, a waft of freesia pushed its way though the cabin.

It was maddening.

This didn't include her heartbeat. It was no longer resting or just sluggishly beating in the background. Instead it thudded across the beams, rattling in my ears, and settling in my bones. And her breathing…the way it thundered though her lungs, or the sound of her tongue as it darted out across her chapped lips.

I was overwhelmed and dizzy from _her._ Too much of Isabella had infiltrated my home.

Impossibly, I managed to help her. She asked with a tiny voice if I could assist her and I watched, intrigued, as her face flushed with embarrassment, her predicament clear. I nodded and stifled the grimace that wanted to surface at her proximity. I lifted her from the bed and carried her to the bathroom at her request, shutting the door behind me as she took care of her needs.

I listened to her movements behind the door. It was fascinating to hear her humanness and not be repulsed. I thought I would be. I thought it would make her less appealing. Again, I was completely wrong.

When she was ready, I returned her, exhausted and in pain to bed, plying her with more medicine and fluids. She refused to eat, thankfully—I wasn't ready for that.

She did ask, snuggled deep under the blue blanket covering her body, "Edward, why hasn't anyone found me yet?"

My body halted at her words, my eyes glued to the colorful pattern on the quilt.

"You think they're looking, right?" She continued, hope coating her words.

I forced myself to speak even if it was possibly a lie. "Of course, it's the weather I'm sure…it's been snowing heavily," I replied and gestured to the accumulation of snow on the windowsill.

She nodded, her eyes growing heavy, and I said quietly, "Actually, I should go check on some things outside. I won't be long."

"Mmmm…" she hummed, lost in the world of sleep already.

I stood outside the door, and waited until her breathing slowed. I also had wondered if anyone was looking for her. So far though there had been no information in the news—I had been checking. But eventually someone would surely look for her. Would they find us? What would I do if they came?

These thoughts disturbed me and I retreated out the back door.

I entered the forest behind the house, trudging through the knee-high snow to get there, and took off at a sprint once I hit the tree line. I needed to run and I desperately needed to hunt. I'd stayed with her instead, afraid to leave once she awoke, but now it was too much. One look at my pitch black eyes and the deep purple bruises marring my face and it was clear--I needed fresh air and a _release._ Just as I crested the top of a hill, I felt the sharp jolt of my phone as it vibrated in my pocket. There was only one person who called me and I slowed my pace before I groaned and ran my fingers through my hair.

_Fuck._

I wasn't ready to talk to him.

I held the phone, and watched his name flash across the front--buzzing excitedly in my palm.

If I answered I would have to lie. If I didn't and he already knew, via the gifts for my sister, they would be here in a matter of hours.

It was a risk I couldn't take. Not yet. Even if they knew, I would have to keep them from coming here. Or I would run.

With hesitation, I hit talk and spoke into the tiny phone, "Carlisle."

"Edward, how are you?" I processed his words for any underlying implications.

"I'm good," I answered. It was vague, but I was at a loss. "You?"

"I'm well," he returned and I waited for the rest, "We're all doing well."

Me and them. It was never said, but it was always clear.

"I saw you had some bad weather?" _Hmmm…_I wondered, _we were talking about the weather?_

"Yeah, it's been pretty extreme--at least four feet high in places," I explained, kicking a foot at the thick drifts of snow covering the forest with my boot. "I'm actually out hunting right now."

Or did he know this? Was Alice standing next to him, whispering my secrets to him?

"That may be a record," he laughed and for a moment I couldn't figure out what we were talking about because all I could think about was the tightening in my chest and the overwhelming fear of discovery.

Was he calling about the weather or was he distracting me from exposing my actions? Ready to move this along, I said, "So, yeah, I'm out in the woods and just caught the trail of a deer…is there something you needed?"

"Oh, sorry to bother you while hunting. Esme just wanted to make sure you turn the heat up in the cabin," He explained.

I thought of Bella wrapped up in the thick blanket on her bed. I'd turned the thermostat up for her…not because of the weather. "Right. The pipes."

"Yes, the pipes. The last thing you want is a flood of frozen water under the house, I would imagine." I almost snorted. Sometimes Carlisle could be such a dad.

"Okay, tell her I will, and not to worry."

"She always worries Edward. It's her lot in life," he said quietly. "Especially about you."

Yes, so much like a father, including the guilt. "I know, but there's no need. It's just me, in the woods, in the cabin…alone." My voice broke on the last word. _Damnit_. My fingers pinched the bridge of my nose. I'd always been able to lie easily—except to him.

He paused, and I thought for a moment I'd betrayed myself…if he had been here in person I'm sure I would have. When he finally spoke his words surprised me. "I'm sorry you're alone."

My fingers gripped the small phone and guilt rushed through my body. I hated deceiving him. But I'd made a choice and accepted the consequences. I'd done it before and would do it again. And right now I coveted the girl in the house more than I hated lying to him.

"It's fine. It's hard sometimes, but it's necessary. One day maybe we can all be together again." I thought of Alice and her tiny fists balled in rage. _Unlikely._

Carlisle sighed heavily. My separation hurt him more than it hurt me. "Let me know if you need anything."

Before I said goodbye a thought occurred to me, "Oh, I almost forgot…did you know you can use Super Glue to bind cuts?"

I could hear his deep laughter on the other side of the phone. "Yes, I did. We use a similar product in the emergency room." There was a period of silence, "Is there a particular reason you mentioned this?"

Without realizing it, I'd almost tipped my hand in my effort to show him my new trick and I quickly attempted to cover, "No, I've just been doing some reading online and that one stood out. It made me think of you."

We talked about this for awhile—conversation was less tense when we had a specific topic to discuss. We said our goodbyes, with a fresh promise to meet, as usual, in a couple of weeks. I slipped the phone back in my pocket and took off. Carlisle couldn't come here for his typical visit, that would have to be adjusted, but I could find time to come up with something believable by then. Only a small shiver of alarm rippled through my body at the idea of keeping her with me for that long.

My phone call with Carlisle was interesting. No mention of the girl or my slip or anything else, which I don't think he could keep to himself if he knew. Alice must still be keeping out of my life…although…the information about her and Bella being friends was still tugging at my mind.

It became clear, as my feet pounded through the forest in hot pursuit of a meal, that I wasn't the only one in my family with a secret.

* * *

Thank you lts29 for the beta & Houroflead and bethaboo. (it takes a village people)

And ANGSTGODDESS003 who...well, i can't even go into it with out crying a little. She. Completes. Me. (not to mention she is 1/2 owner of a new fabulous one shot in the making featuring our favorite duo in some favorite positions)

I appreciate all the awesome recommendations out there and all the fabulous reviews!

I wish i could spill my secrets but i can't.

Rec for the week: Between the Madness and the Fire by Foreveryoung82

I wrote an character exploration on Vampward on the lazy yet discering ficster blog...check it out.

until next week bbs!


	8. Chapter 8

Daedalus In Exile

Chapter 8

~*~

"How did you know my name?"

Her words startled me.

I'd been walking by her room and she was so quiet, her breathing so evenly spaced, I had thought she was asleep.

"Excuse me?" I asked, stopping midway down the hall, buying time for the question I wasn't prepared for.

I rounded the corner into her room but didn't enter. I needed to leave myself an escape. Isabella was sitting up in bed, her hair wild and knotted, the yellowy-brown of iodine stained down the side of her neck. She was still in my shirt and I could tell from here she needed to change it. The sweat and stink from her fever was embedded in the fabric. It smelled horribly pleasant.

She cleared her throat and stared down at her hands. "How did you know my name was Isabella?"

My mind began working overtime. If I showed her the IDs she would be able to trace her background or make me do it. I wasn't ready for her to go. I definitely wasn't ready for her to remember.

"I saw it in your bag," I said confidently. It wasn't a lie.

"My bag?" she asked.

I walked over to the closet and hid behind the solid wood door before picking up her belongings. I removed the wallet quickly and slipped it into my pocket. I also removed the leather-bound book to look at later and put it on a higher shelf to look at a later time. I closed the door and carried the bag over to the bed. Handing them gently to her, I said, "You had it with you in the woods. I left it there the first day, but I went back later."

"What happened here?" She said and began fingering the tears in the fabric with interest.

I swallowed thickly. Venom had randomly filled my throat and I had to keep my voice from wavering, "Um…I think an animal got to it. They can't resist any type of food or even trash."

Isabella considered this for a moment, but then started fumbling with the zipper and pockets of the backpack. She pulled out all the things I had already seen-- the hat and gloves, the bottle of water and trash. A pile of her supplies, including the knife and the toilet paper, stacked next to her on the bed. I watched, intrigued, as she pulled out the tube of lip balm, opened it, sniffed it and slid some across her brittle skin.

Her lips became pinker and there was a slight glimmer across them from the sheen. She pressed them together and then slipped her tongue out quickly, tasting the balm.

It was absolutely fascinating.

I felt a little intrusive, but Isabella was completely engrossed with her personal items. And why wouldn't she be? It was the only link she had to her past--or so she thought.

Her hands began to shake and I watched, surprised as tears began to fill her eyes.

Suppressing the urge to reach out an touch the fluid that ran down her face I asked, "Hey, what's wrong? What's the problem?" and walked across the room, crouching by her side.

"I don't see it? Where? Where is my name?" she whimpered.

I reached out and used my fingers to pull back the front flap of the backpack. "It's right here…" and I showed her the small patch stitched into the canvas.

Isabella snatched it from my hands and peered at the small square and then ran her thumb over the bumpy letters. She breathed a sigh of relief and leaned her head back on the pillow propped behind her.

"I saw it when I picked it up. That was how I knew your name." I lied to make her feel better. I lied to keep my secrets.

She nodded, believing every word. She stared at the name tag a little longer and then said, "Edward, can I have some time alone please?"

I stood and walked to the doorway, wishing I could read her mind and hear her thoughts right now. She looked sad and lost and alone.

I wasn't sure how to fix it.

~*~

"Isabella," I whispered, and nudged her sleeping form.

She shifted in the bed and I watched her eyelids flutter as she woke. A grimace marred her expression as she winced from the pain at the back of her head.

"Isabella, I have some medication for you. Here…" and I reached out to help her steady her body and slide her back up the pillow so she could sit.

She reached her hand out for the pills and the glass of water. She paused and studied the blue oval pill I gave her. "What is this?" she asked, her eyes narrowing in concentration.

Honestly, I was glad she asked. It was a little disturbing how much trusted me.

I was hovering over her, feeling the warm vibrations of her body and heart as they sprung from sleep. "The blue one is medication for the pain. The white one is an antibiotic. I think you have an infection."

She graced me with a little smile and mouthed a thank you, while she popped the pills in her mouth one at a time before gulping down the glass of water. I watched her throat as it bobbed, the skin stretched white and pure.

Isabella really shouldn't have thanked me and I shouldn't have accepted it. But I did. I smiled at her in return and took her glass to set on the bedside table. The prescription bottles were hidden in my pocket. When I was hunting, I came upon a house, charming and big, the elderly owners reading, snug under blankets by the fireplace.

I broke in quickly—silently—and rummaged through their cabinets. I had to go to three bathrooms before I found what I was looking for, but eventually I located a small amount of non-expired antibiotic and pain medication to bring home to Isabella.

"Do you remember anything today?" I asked and sat in the armchair. I was aware when I stood it looked too stiff—sitting was a safer, more _human _position.

A cloud of frustration crossed her expression. "No, nothing. When you say my name it sounds familiar, but I can't decide if that is because you told me and I believe you, or if it is a flicker of an actual memory." She sighed in frustration. "Do you think it will be lost forever?"

I crossed my legs and pretended to think, but I had been expecting this question. In fact, I had looked it up only hours before. "I think it is a result from the impact you took on the back of your head. When the lion lunged to attack, you fell with great force on a rock. It was jarring. But, from everything I know, these types of injuries are temporary. I'm very hopeful you'll get better soon."

Cue earnest, sympathetic expression.

Apparently she bought it, and I wondered for the countless time today what she was thinking. "Do you have any other questions?" I prodded.

Isabella looked to the side, not meeting my eyes and mumbled, "Why haven't you taken me to the hospital?" Her voice was small and I could smell the fear rolling off her body.

I kept myself from looking shocked, because even though I had feared this question, it still caught me by surprise.. There was no way to answer this without lying, and the minute I said the words the reality of my monstrosity would come to fruition.

Despite all that, the ease at which the words formed was almost astonishing, even to myself.

"I can't get you there. The snow is too high and it's still accumulating," I said, gesturing to the window. "The weather is acting very unusual." The lie, of course, was that I had already been to town twice--that I could get there in minutes instead of hours, and if I had wanted to she would be in a warm, safe hospital right now.

But I wanted her here.

"I do have a truck, but I worry about your condition and your head. I would hate to jar you or injure you further in the move. I think it's safer here." The words continued to flow easily over my lips. There were hints of truth, but it was all masked under a great big lie.

She nodded in understanding and part of me wanted her to argue and to question my motives. Wasn't this all just too good to be true? The simple fact I found her in the woods, moments from death—a doctor no less! A handsome one at that, if I dare say. It was a fairy tale or a scary story. It would either end up happily ever after or not.

I still had no clue which way it would go. And was my happily ever after the same as hers? Doubtful. Mine ended with a full stomach, complete and utter satisfaction and a body to dispose of.

Suddenly my mouth was full of venom and my head was swimming in her scent.

"Um…" I muttered and hopped from my seat, ignoring her confused expression, "excuse me." I ran out of the room, down the stairs and stopped in the kitchen.

I stood over the counter, my hands flattened over the smooth butcher block and inhaled deeply. "Good Lord," I declared to myself and I tried to force the visions of the taste, smell and feel of Isabella out of my mind. It was futile though--I'd thought about her so much and so many times that I had no idea how to separate the thoughts.

"I'm over my head…completely and absolutely over my head," I whispered helplessly to the empty room.

~*~

I managed to collect and distract myself by attacking a challenge.

Food.

Not my food but Isabella's. She needed to eat and I had put this off long enough. Her appetite was probably dampened by the stress and shock of everything going on, but that didn't mean she shouldn't eat. I knew for a fact the last thing she had was a 'power bar' of some peanut butter variety five minutes before she almost became lion food.

One thing about Esme was she always had a well stocked, fully-functional kitchen. She even, on occasion, would bake or cook something in an effort to maintain appearances. Esme would show up to school events, bake sales, the hospital, and sick neighbors' homes with exquisite and delicious-looking treats that look like they came straight off the cover of a gourmet magazine.

Esme was quite possibly the June Cleaver of the vampire world.

This thought amused me as I hovered over the pot I had placed over an eye on the stove. I couldn't blame her now though, I thought, as I began preparing a meal for Isabella. I'd bought bread and cheese, and I'd managed to find some soup in the aisles of the store. I realized halfway through my preparations why so many people liked to cook. It was calming, required multitasking, and for me, it was the entirely new experience of doing something for someone else.

I entered the bedroom to a fully sitting upright Isabella, who appeared to be stroking the purple wool of her hat that was sitting in her lap. Her eyes popped up, connecting with mine and she offered a weak smile before saying hello.

"What's that?" she asked, looking at the plate, bowl and utensils I was carrying in my hands.

I walked over to the bedside and explained, "I made you dinner. Your fever has been down for a while and you need to eat."

She pulled herself up a little higher, looking at the contents of the plate. "You made this?" she asked curiously.

I fought a grimace. Isabella was proving to be disturbingly observant even with a traumatic brain injury. I would hate to imagine our encounters if she was fully functioning.

Embarrassed, I confessed, "Well, no, I guess I didn't really make any of it. But I arranged it nicely on this plate." I presented it and she accepted with a small, pale hand. "And warmed the soup."

She asked me to place the soup bowl on the side table and I watched with interest as she looked at the toast and cheese on her plate.

"Edward," she said, her eyes still cast downward, "I haven't had a chance to thank you for doing all this for me. I owe you so much."

A hysterical noise slipped out of my mouth before I could contain it. I covered quickly with a cough. "There's no need to thank me. I only did what I thought was best."

Isabella tentatively began nibbling on one of the slices of toast and I took the opportunity to back out of the room. As much as I craved this woman, she also overwhelmed me with her presence and particularly her questions.

My hand was on the edge of the door and I had opened my mouth to excuse myself when I heard her small voice call my name.

"Yes?" I asked, trying to ignore the way her heart had begun thumping just a bit harder or the way an odd blush had risen up her neck.

"Will you sit with me while I eat?" she asked, her eyes expectant.

My fingers gripped the door. This was something I needed to do. I couldn't bring her here and then hide from her—it made no sense. "Um…sure, if you want?"

Isabella nodded shyly, the tendrils of her hair skimming her shoulders and winding around the bandage on her head. A flutter of her scent carried my way, but I fought the urges and walked over to the chair far from the bed.

I sat down, pushing my body back into the soft cushions and watched her begin to pull pieces of the cheese apart nervously with her fingers. I was sure I should say something. But my conversation skills were more than lacking, the longest one recently being with the old pharmacist at Wal-Mart.

I broke the silence, "Is it good?" and gestured at her plate.

She braved a smile, "It is--thank you. I had more of an appetite than I realized. I think my body became used to not being full."

I understood the feeling.

"So," she began and did some kind of magic trick where she looked at me under her eyelashes and barely grinned. "We know everything there is to know about me…care to tell me more about yourself?"

I wanted to decline. I really did. But she was performing voodoo on me with her eyes and I began speaking without censor, "Sure, what would you like to know?"

She studied me a bit while she chewed, slowing working the bread with her teeth. My eyes were glued to her throat, watching the veins pull tight as she swallowed. "Why do you live out here alone? I'm assuming it's pretty far out since the weather is keeping us in."

I waited a beat to answer, and shifted humanly in my seat, "My family has owned this property for over a hundred years—it's comfortable and I like the solitude."

"Doesn't it get lonely?"

This one was easy and I could answer truthfully, "Not really. My family does visit sometimes. I make an effort to go to town when I need to."

"Where do you work?"

Ahhh…time for the lies to begin. I would attempt to keep it to a minimum.

"I don't…not now."

Isabella appeared stunned by my admission, "But you said you were a doctor…"

"I am. I went to medical school. I'm not practicing currently." All true. Completely true.

Unfortunately, this wasn't enough for the woman propped in the bed across from me. She raised an eyebrow and waited patiently for further information.

I couldn't give her any more so I mirrored her expression and waited for her to continue. I should have known by refusing to answer the last one her next question would be harder.

"How old are you? You don't look old enough to be a doctor." As she spoke her eyes roamed my face and body. She seemed to look past the obvious, the mis-colored eyes and my pale, slick skin instead, staring oddly at my shoulders and a spot below my mouth.

I'd never wanted to know the mind of someone more than this.

I swallowed and spoke in the voice I tended to use to lure my victims. "I'm twenty-five."

Her eyes glazed for a moment, lost in her own thoughts but eventually she shook it off and refocused, although she wasn't as alarmed by the age as she should have been. "Twenty-five? You look twenty," she laughed and then mumbled, "at the most," under her breath.

Very astute, I mused. "Good genes, I guess." I responded, and attempted a smirk, but it landed more like a smile. Her eyes widened and I heard her heartbeat pick up a notch. I discretely sniffed the air for a hint of her fear but there was none.

Interesting.

She kept her physical reaction in check though as she spoke, "Yeah, I would assume so if you finished med school by twenty-five."

I shrugged. What else could I do? She either chose to believe me or not. If not things would change drastically and quickly between us.

Suddenly her brows furrowed, red heat spread across her face, and she clamped a hand over her mouth.

"What?" I asked, confused but intrigued by her odd reaction.

"Oh my God…you're like one of those geniuses, right?" Her mind clearly began working overtime and she continued, ticking off the information she had learned, "You graduated early, studied medicine, live out here all alone...I bet you play the piano and have all kinds of amazing talents!"

I stared at Isabella, unable to really speak. What do you say when someone literally hits the nail on the head but doesn't realize it's not a nail, but something else entirely?

She picked up her soup bowl and held the spoon up to her mouth, puckering her lips and blowing to cool the hot broth.

"This makes so much sense." She declared before bringing the liquid to her mouth and plunging the spoon in. I was completely fascinated by her mouth and was having a hard time listening to her.

I dragged my eyes upward, "Err...how so?"

"There's something different about you. I noticed it right away. The way you carry yourself and the way you speak. All of your actions scream 'different' even though, really, there is nothing wrong." I tilted my head an inch, trying to react but not react. She had noticed more than I realized. "But this explains everything." This last part was said under her breath as she continued to scoop soup into her mouth.

I still had no idea what to say so I didn't even try. And she was so pleased at her theory that she had moved on and had begun talking about the weather again and how soon I thought we could get the truck started to head into town.

"Soon," I lied. "I think it will clear up soon. Although after the snow ends there will be other considerations."

"Like what?"

I was laying groundwork--binding her to me in the only way I knew how. "The snow will melt and up here in the hills, there will be a fair amount of flooding, not to mention the mud. The road to my house is made of dirt, which will make it difficult to maneuver."

Isabella placed her plate and bowl on the table and scooted under the covers--her eyes heavy with sleep. I walked over to remove the dirty dishes and noticed her rub her fingers over her forehead, near the wide scar I'd noticed before.

"Does your head hurt?" I asked and used my fingers to feel for fever.

"A little," she confessed and I reached in my pocket for some pain medication. I asked, "but it's different from before?"

She rubbed the spot once more and explained, "It's more of a headache than pain from the injury, I guess."

"Take this," I offered and handed her the glass of water from next to her bed.

I gathered the plates and walked to the door. "I'm going to turn off the light, okay?"

She nodded and closed her eyes, so trusting and secure under the warm quilt. I traveled down the hall and considered how things were getting complicated. The small lies scattered here and there through our conversation were sure to pop up again. I descended the steps, and realized for once, the aching in my chest was lessened and the constant desire to quench my thirst had dampened more than ever before. Possessing Isabella had brought around changes I hadn't anticipated. I was building up a tolerance to her, although in some ways my obsession had clearly changed. I found her thoughts intriguing and her reactions surprising. Everything about her was different from what I expected but at the same time thrilling.

I thought about her, sitting up in the bed, dozing in the warm safety of my home. There was little chance I could release her--the lies were growing--and as her scent and presence infiltrated my home I only craved her, Isabella the person, more.

* * *

THank you again for such great support! I love all your reviews and wish i could respond to them all-but alas not enough time!

Thanks to Lts29 and HoL for betaworks

Angstgoddess003 for everything

Rob for being so unfrakingbelievablyhot

Please go check out Last Rites if you aren't...it is amazing.

And I'm totally into Fault-by I needyoursway it's very very good.

Happy Halloween!


	9. Chapter 9

Daedalus in Exile

Chapter 9

~*~

The wind was rattling the barn windows with force the next morning. I'd slipped outside and plowed through the still high piles of snow covering the space between the house and the barn. The wind was so strong it had picked the cap off my head and carried it behind the wall of my garden where I found it, wet and plastered to a cement and glass structure, before continuing on to my destination.

The drafty building was my work space—the sanctuary within my sanctuary. It was original to the property, only minimally updated over the years, unlike the house itself. No one in the family had ever spent much time here, which made it feel even more like my own space. When I began my project I began spending hours here, collecting, preparing, and building the pieces that would eventually become my great work.

But my visit to the weathered building wasn't about creating today. I had other intentions for stealing away, far from the sounds and scents of Isabella. Once I secured the door and settled on the high stool next to my work table, I stared at the contraband in my hands. The cover was smooth, with small indentations from the leather tools used to create the designs of flowers and spirals. It was bound with a thick cord, wrapped around tight, to keep the contents inside or as a reminder, perhaps, for wandering eyes to keep out.

I'd never been much for following directions or minding my own business. Seventy years as a mind reader put a stop to that.

With nimble and fast fingers, I unwound the strap, feeling only the smallest twinge of guilt. Not really for looking but for the fact I was keeping this book--possibly filled with information on her life--from her when she so desperately wanted _something_ to connect to. I knew it was wrong to look in other people's personal effects. But, I thought with indifference, I was a selfish bastard and wanted to know the contents before she did. I wanted, in all honesty, to know _her _before she knew herself.

My greatest hope was this was a journal or diary of her thoughts. Giddy at the idea, I cracked open the book, its surface cold from the outdoor temperature, and eyed the first page.

I felt my brow furrow at the sight--it was simply a list.

_Raincoat_

_Boots_

_Sweaters_

_Jeans_

_Socks (thermal type - __will purchase when I arrive)_

_Long-sleeved shirts_

_Winter coat_

I flipped the page. It was similar…a grocery list of food. Was this a book of lists? A planner of sorts? Again, I turned the page and was interested to see there weren't words but this time an odd series of drawings. I ran my finger over the ink covered page—a whole page of eyes—dark sketches of varying sizes and shapes staring back at me angrily.

I began skimming the pages that followed. It appeared to be an entire book of ramblings—lists, notes, quotes of some kind, possibly some writings and then several sketches. I wasn't sure if I could make heads or tails of it without its proper context.

I found one entry--standing alone on a page and printed in messy, heavy penmanship:

_His sins trickled from his lips, one by one, trickled in shameful drops from his soul festerin__g and oozing like a sore, a squalid stream of vice. The last sins oozed forth, sluggish, filthy._

My hands moved to my own lips, feeling for drops of sin. I'd seen these words before. They didn't belong to her, but it felt as though they belonged to me.

What did Isabella know of sin? Little, I would assume. She was from tiny Forks a town where nothing tawdry or sinful really occurred. I knew this. I had lived in the minds of the town folk. Excessive drinking behind closed doors or sleeping with a neighbors wife-while technically sins, all in all, it was a place of contentment. I couldn't imagine Isabella encountering or participating in too much debauchery.

But what did I know? Nothing apparently. I didn't know she and Alice were friends or where she lived until now, including the fact she was this close to me once she left Washington. Confirming this thought, my fingers landed on a heavy piece of blue stationary paper shoved between the pages. I extracted it carefully and felt a sense of dread fill my chest.

Graduation Party!

Bella Swan & Alice Cullen

June 8, 2006

Cullen Residence

8pm

Bella.

So she had a nickname--shortened by her family and friends. Alice called her Bella due to their familiarity. This thought caused a tight, unfamiliar pang deep in my stomach.

Again, it was clear I had no idea what my family had been up to in my absence. Irritated, I ran my fingers over the raised edges of the invitation and I sniffed it, looking for a hint of Alice but found none. I wanted to catch her and the lack of solid evidence caused a swell of anger to build in my chest.

How dare Alice do _this _to me.

My anger wasn't necessarily over their apparent friendship but over the fact that Alice truly did leave me behind. I'd always thought she was still looking out for me, that one day she would forgive me and my refusal to come home. Even now, I expected her to walk in the door and catch me in my newest web of lies. But now, I wondered if she ever even considered me again. Did she even give me a second thought or did she just move on, replacing me with a human girl? _My_ human girl- or even more so, _my_ damnation.

I pushed the card back into the book and wound the cord around it until it was taut. With a frustrated clank, I pushed the book into a wooden box on the back of the work table, moving it and her wallet under a variety of tools for safekeeping.

I knew I was bothered by their friendship, but as I examined it further, I discovered that it was jealously fueling my anger. I wondered how Alice managed to befriend her in the first place. It wasn't lost on me that she wouldn't have to trick or imprison someone to make them have a relationship.

Sighing deeply, I stood and pushed the stool backwards, moving to my feet. I'd had enough of rummaging though her books and bags and thoughts. The real thing was currently in my house waiting for me to come back.

~*~

"Not to be a bother but…" Isabella paused and looked down at her hands folded neatly in her lap, before sighing deeply, "Edward, I really need to take a shower and change my clothes."

I'd come inside to forget my irritation over the Alice situation and now was standing in the doorway of Isabella's room. I tried to absorb her request like a physician or even just a normal man. It was almost impossible. There were several things about this entire scenario that made me uncomfortable—the least of which was the idea of a nude woman in my shower.

The major problem was, as usual, blood.

I squeezed the thought to the back of my mind, but began speaking carefully, "It's no bother but…your wound is still quite fresh and although you can clean it carefully, I don't think you should get it fully wet."

Isabella wrinkled her nose but quickly smiled. "I can be careful."

I nodded and asked her to wait while I opened the closet and gestured toward some of the items I had purchased. "I have some clothing here, left by my sister. I think it should fit."

Another day, another lie. They dripped thorough my lips like sin.

I stood by the door while she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the balls of her feet settling on the braided carpet covering the hardwoods. I chanted a silent prayer that she wouldn't require my assistance—but already her palm was cupping her forehead.

"Does it hurt?" I asked, never moving from my position. It may have come out a little less than friendly. I wasn't very good at leaving my attitude behind.

She grimaced and dropped her hand. "Just a little dizzy."

Isabella struggled to stand and catch her balance. I fought the urge to slap my hand over my face in frustration—I would prefer not to touch her, but in the end my manners got the best of me. "Would you like some help?"

She stared at me briefly, as though she was considering my offer, but in the end shook her head and declined. "No, I need to do this myself." She gave me one more glance before heaving herself off the bed. "Just…don't go too far, okay?"

"I won't," I promised. As though I would leave her unattended—I'd been hovering around her for days now. Like the moon orbiting the earth—or a cat with a mouse. At some point, I had begun playing with my food.

She stopped at the closet and pulled out a shirt and a pair of pants I had purchased for her. I pretended not to notice as she laid a fresh pair of underpants between the other clothing modestly.

"Follow me," I directed and I turned from the room. I could hear her slow steps behind me and her hand as it braced against the wall. Once I reached the full bath, I stepped aside, allowing Isabella to enter before me. I pointed around the tight space, "There are towels there, and soap in the shower itself." I fought the discomfort I felt in the small room as her glorious scent began to close in. "Really, anything you need should be in here, feel free to use what you want."

Isabella rested a hand on the countertop and smiled graciously. "Thank you, Edward, I appreciate your hospitality." She shifted her weight and silence enveloped the room, causing me to realize she was waiting for me to leave.

"Okay, well…I'll just be downstairs if you need me_." Please don't need me,_ my mind whispered. Her smell and body was too much in the enclosed space and I wasn't sure how I would handle seeing too much exposed flesh without giving into my hunger.

Isabella nodded and I stepped back from the door, turning abruptly toward the stairs. As I began to climb down, I heard the sharp click of the latch when she closed the door. I paused when I heard the second, quieter, slide of metal against metal as the lock shifted into space.

I was almost relieved Isabella felt the need to lock herself away from me. I was intrigued to know she feared me, as I had been on my best behavior, but then again I was a man and she was preparing to disrobe and shower in my house. Her vulnerability would be at its highest and I cocked an ear for confirmation.

Through the walls I distinctly heard the shift and flutter of fabric and the eventual small squeak of the faucet as she twisted the knob. Over the rush of water I could identify the nervous beat of Isabella's heart, but it appeared to slow as the seconds passed. The odor of her nervousness dissipated and it confirmed my assumption that she would become more comfortable in my presence as our time together increased. This was pleasing to consider.

Her physical reactions brought around my curiosity. I didn't want Isabella to fear me, although for her to be normal she should have it regardless. But I also felt the need to make her comfortable—welcome in my home. I knew if she were to be here for any length of time, her body's reactions would have to get under control. The spikes and dips of her pulse and breathing and other movements sent my predatory reactions into overdrive, but this reaction, her comfort, was also appealing. It had been too long that I had breathed in the scent of something so delightful—it refueled me and made me feel alive.

I took a quiet step down the stairs. It was a balance—this interaction with Isabella. It needed refinement and focus. It was a challenge I was prepared to accept.

~*~

After her shower, Isabella appeared tentatively at the bottom of the steps that led into the living area.

I was sitting at my desk in the far corner of the room when I heard her sock covered feet padding down the stairway and her nervous heart thumping a bit excitedly.

Pretending not to hear her, I waited, head down and focused on my book until she announced her arrival.

"Hi," she whispered from the landing.

I took my time lifting my head, pretending my entire focus wasn't on her right now. That I wasn't listening to her hands as they tugged at the cuffs of her shirt or the creaking floor under her shuffling feet. I acted as though her heart hadn't beat twenty-six times since she greeted me and that her body smelled of soap and shampoo and that the mountain water left a slight metallic scent in her hair.

"Oh, Isabella. Feeling better?" I asked in the most interested tone I could muster. I wanted her to feel better but at the same time days old, un-showered Isabella smelled better to me than the perfumed version standing at the bottom of the stairs.

She smiled at my voice but didn't move from her spot and replied, "Actually I do. Better than I would have expected."

I nodded and took an exaggerated look back at my book before closing it and resting it on the desk. Obviously she was waiting for an invitation of sorts. I stood and rounded the desk."Please feel free to come in and join me. I'm sure you've grown tired of the bedroom." I wasn't really sure how I felt about her roaming around the house, but really my options were limited.

Her feet moved immediately, as though she had been holding back. "Ugh, I was beginning to feel like a prisoner up there!"

Her statement was bold and truer than she realized, but one look at her face and I knew she thought she was joking. It still left me speechless.

She _was_ a prisoner here. She just didn't realize it.

The atmosphere grew heavy and I gestured to the couch for Isabella and found myself in the wide leather arm, chair nearest the fireplace.

Isabella was taking in the room, her eyes skimming over the furniture and surfaces before settling onto the tall bookshelves that surrounded the room. While she studied the room, I studied her. She was wearing the clothing I picked out. The shirt and pants were a little large for her body size. Her hair was pulled on top of her head, I assumed to keep it away from her wound and I could see the bald spot where I'd cut it.

I followed her eyes and saw they were still focused on the bookshelves. "Do you like to read?" I asked, before realizing she possibly didn't know.

She pulled her eyes from the rows of books and focused them on mine, blushing. "I think so—I remember different books. I recognize the titles from here."

Determined to find out more I probed, "So you do have some memories?"

"Yes, like the books, I remember Shakespeare and Tolkien. It's like information that just resides in my head." She paused and gestured to the furniture. "I know this is a couch or that you light a fire in the fireplace. But I can't seem to get a handle on personal things, like who I am and where I'm from."

I leaned back in my seat, trying to appear causal. "Can you remember anything about any family or friends? School perhaps?"

Isabella's face twisted up in concentration, as though she was willing the memories to come back. She pressed her hands into her face, "No, nothing. Well, maybe…I get some small flickers, some are images, others are feelings."

This piqued my interest. "How so?"

She sighed and the frustration was evident. "I see flashes of green, wet and dark. Almost like a forest…but not like here. Not cold and leafless. It's more thick and lush."

_Forks._ Isabella had just described Forks.

I swallowed, steadying my voice, "Anything else?"

"Not really. I get this feeling like I'm missing something. Like something important is on the tip of my tongue. Which I guess in many ways it is." She flopped back on the couch, wincing as her wound grazed the edge of the cushion with too much force. "It's like when you have a dream and you're looking for something and it's just out of reach…but you know that when you find it everything will come into place, you know?"

I nodded in agreement although I had no idea how to relate to the concept. The last dream I had was over ninety years ago.

"It sounds like maybe things are coming back," I said, trying to sound positive and not as disturbed as I really was. "Will you tell me if anything changes?"

She agreed and the room grew quiet, awkwardness filling the void. Isabella's fingers picked rapidly at the seam of the couch. She was nervous.

Just as I was trying to come up with something brilliant to say, Isabella took a quick breath and spoke, "Is it hard for you? Having me here?"

I stifled a smirk. She really had _no_ idea.

"Why do you ask?" I replied cautiously.

Isabella blushed, heat traveling up her neck and down her arms in the most appealing way. "Only because you said you're used to the solitude and isolation. I must be disrupting that for you."

I fought to not inhale, to not suck in the heat rising off her body, but it was useless the minute I opened my mouth and I could taste her instead. "These are extenuating circumstances," I allowed, savoring her exquisite flavor on my tongue, "I should hardly complain."

This seemed to settle her a bit, the redness regrettably dying down, but I was surprised by her next question.

"Does your sister visit often?"

Silently I processed her question before responding, "My sister? No." I said the words forcefully, yet trying to convey a lack of interest. I would have rathered this discussion not continue.

Isabella didn't register my discomfort. "Oh, you had her things here for me to borrow, so I thought maybe she came to see you sometimes."

I suppressed the anguished groan under my breath. Talking about Alice would lead us both into troubled areas. "No, well… no, we are somewhat estranged."

For a moment, I wanted to pursue the idea, push Alice on her until maybe her mind broke. But what then, what would I do if the flood gates opened?

She seemed to sense my hesitation and changed subjects, furthering the idea she currently had no memory of Alice. "Do you have any other family?"

Further complications, but I pushed them aside and said, "Yes, I do--two brothers and one other sister ."

I watched as she tucked her feet under her body, either protectively or relaxing into the sofa. I wasn't sure which. "Let me guess – you're the oldest?" Isabella said.

I felt my lips tug upward, but I asked in confusion, "Why would you say that?"

She continued picking at the edge of the couch and said softly, "I don't know…I guess you seem like such a caretaker, it seems like the trait of an oldest child."

Was I the oldest? Or youngest? I was the next-to-oldest vampire in our coven but I was frozen at the age of seventeen - years below the others. I decided with what was most likely the truth in our family dynamics. "I guess that could be true, but in reality I'm the youngest."

"Oh, so you're the baby. But they don't appear to dote on you…being out here so alone," she mused, but there was something off about her tone.

_No, they don't--not anymore, not the way they used to and it's my own fault._ "They would if I let them."

Her eyes turned thoughtful and she studied me carefully. "But you won't?"

I took a deep breath, fire burning down the sides of my throat, a reminder of my choices. "No. Not anymore. There came a time when they didn't agree with my decisions. And really, I was probably wrong, but it was something I felt compelled to do." I just said more to her about my family than to anyone in the last five years…if not longer. A metaphorical weight lifted off my shoulders and I looked up in appreciation and noticed sadness filling Isabella's features.

"Are you okay? Are you in pain?" I asked suddenly, unsure what to do.

Isabella took a deep breath and wiped at her eyes with her shirt sleeves. "No, I was just thinking how I have no idea if I have a family or if they are missing me or scared, and you have this huge family who you gave up because of your 'choices.' And I realize for our own, but different, reasons we are isolated and for the moment all we have is each other."

I looked at the girl sitting across from me—knees tucked, hair a nest of tangles and glue and blood. She was speaking profoundly about subjects she didn't understand. I saw her hand sneak up to wipe away a tear that was building in the corner of her eye. She missed a family she didn't even know she had. I, on the other hand, chose this path out of rebellion and weakness.

I sighed and offered a slight smile. "I suppose you're right. We _are_ stuck with one another."

I thought she would return my smile, but anxiety filled her eyes instead. Perplexed, I watched her stand slowly and trudge over to the bookshelf. "Do you mind if I borrow one? And take it to my room?" she asked hesitantly, her fingers hovering near the spine of a book.

"Help yourself," I offered, uneasy with her emotions. Did she not want to be around me any longer? Did the idea of me being all she had at the moment make her nervous?

She hooked her fingers over the edge of a spine and tugged the thick book out of its slot. Her choice intrigued me and I wondered if she recalled this as well. She then turned to me, hugging the book to her chest and supplied a slight smile. "Thanks Edward, for everything." But it sounded forced and I was confused by her change in behavior.

I saw her hip jut in the direction of the stairway and I wanted to block her retreat. I wanted more. "Would you like something to eat? Drink?" I offered eagerly.

She shook her head and sighed, "No, thank you. I'm really tired—the shower and coming down here really wore me out. I think I'll head back to bed."

I stood, a tad dejected, allowing her to pass, watching her feet as they mounted the steps one at a time. Humans, I noted, were very strange indeed. Female humans were possibly even stranger. I didn't follow that exchange at all, nor the shift in her emotions.

I returned to my desk, lowering myself into the leather chair and picking up my book from earlier. Previously, I'd felt a level of comfort…this afternoon though, it was waning. I listened to the shifts and settlement of the house, and the faint creak of the bed springs as she moved in the bed upstairs. Isabella was a bit of a mystery that I would have to unravel, but for now it seemed all we had was time and I would do my best to discover her.

* * *

Thanks to my betas lts29, Houroflead & revrag

To AG because she is like a feral cat. I want her to lick my wounds.

next chapter picks the pace up a bit I think.

I'm not gonna lie, if robward cullenson keeps putting out picutres like the ones from VF then my next update may be late. I tend to get...distracted.

thanks for reading...OH and my recs for this week is University of Edward Masen and Times New Roman--both great reads.﻿


	10. Chapter 10

Daedalus in Exile

Chapter 10

~*~

My hands hit the rough stack of wood in the corner of the barn. I had a moment of internal celebration at my find. I knew there was a pile of wood back here, but never really needed it before.

I was going to build a fire. From my perspective, it was a fairly blatant attempt to lure her out of her room and back to the common area. Hopefully, from hers, it would just be seen as a necessity and an attempt to be comforting.

Again, I was worried about her comfort and, increasingly, I was worried about her thoughts on being here. Her behavior the day before was unnerving. She'd been somewhat distant and cold. She clearly wasn't comfortable. Then this morning the sun rose bright and high even though the temperature was below freezing—colder than it had been in weeks. The snow and ice wouldn't melt today, but the storm seemed to have passed, which meant my time with Isabella on these terms was drawing to an end.

I began stacking a pile of logs at my feet and determined it would be enough for now. I wondered if she was awake yet and what she was doing. I hadn't seen Isabella since the day before when she took her book upstairs and closed herself behind the bedroom door. The only noises in the house came from her room that night. Sometimes it was slight shifts in her bed, other times it was nonsensical ramblings in her sleep and more than once she would teeter down the hallway to the bathroom. On those occasions, I would stop what I was doing and lean my ear to my the door, absorbing all her movements as she moved by my room. I listened as her fingers clenched the door knob, the soft padding of her feet on the floor.

At night, I had taken to retiring to my room, for appearances. Trying to explain my nighttime habits would be difficult so I carried my books and thoughts to the bedroom instead. I also had to remember other human activities like changing my clothes or rumpling my bed and showering consistently. This morning, in fact, I'd made noises in the kitchen, banging intentionally around the sink pretending to prepare food for myself as well as her. I had no idea why I was pushing these motions but they seemed appropriate.

I picked up the towering stack of firewood and made my way back across the yard. Once on the porch I dropped the stack by the backdoor, only selecting a couple to take inside. Balancing the pile in one hand, I quickly opened the door and was accosted by the overpowering scent of Isabella.

_Zip…_

My eyes widened when I saw her and my feet froze in the spot. It was as though time warped and confusion took hold of my senses. I smelled Isabella. I saw Isabella, but her body was positioned like that cashier from long ago. She was leaning over the counter--her long, tangled, mahogany hair, draping over her face. In her fingers, she held a knife and was cutting through the top of a package. It didn't matter that she was opening food I had purchased for her or that I'd pressed though these urges and was _better…I knew I was better! _Because in that instant it all paused and I was transported back to the moment I lost my will.

She must have heard my entrance and looked up pleasantly, but her eyes tensed and narrowed as she took in my demeanor.

"Edward?" she asked nervously.

She _was_ nervous. She instantly became heated—her body emitting sweat and her heart escalating with each beat.

"I…" the words stuck in my throat—the same throat that was filling with venom. My fingers clutched the firewood and as we stared at one another with dual eyes of fear, I flinched, turning the wood into a pile of dust that rushed to my feet.

A gasp flew from her mouth and her fingers moved as though to suppress it inside, but it was too late.

She saw the bloodlust on my face.

She witnessed the power of my hands.

She experienced the weakness that overrode my sensible emotions. My façade was broken and I had a choice; satisfy my lust or leave.

I took a step forward, crashing my palms to the counter, preparing to lunge forward and end this farce immediately. But instead I pushed away, a loud crack from the wooden surface as my fingers made contact and I rushed out the back door into the blinding sunlight.

~*~

I ran.

For hours and hours, I ran.

Past the trees and bushes--over the hills and valleys of the Appalachian Range. My pants became drenched and soaked from the heavy drifts of snow. My shoes were wet and chafing, rubbing against my heels. It didn't hurt. Nothing physical ever did. The only pain felt was the aching desire to sink my teeth into soft, pliable flesh.

The sun still shone bright in the sky, forcing my body to cast prisms of light across the white snow. My mind was raging. On Isabella. I thought about how I wanted to grab her, drain her, but I felt horror at the idea of her body being lifeless…of being…no more. No more. I thought about how she looked sad carrying the book up stairs, how she twisted the door knob to her room, and how I was sure she was locking it—keeping me out.

Isabella enraptured me. She was my treasure. Her blood and her flesh, her darkened mind, everything and now I had ruined it….at the very least, she would be terrified of me. At the worst, she would despise me, closing me off from—

_Sniff._

A blast of warmth and fragrance hit my nose. Sawdust and sweat. Wool mixed with flannel. My legs never stopped, they only shifted in the direction of the scent. I inhaled—over and over—until I darted behind a felled tree, ducking low to escape notice.

Prey.

My eyes snapped to the right, fifteen feet away was a hiker, braving the snow and the drifts and the freezing cold air. I'd wandered dangerously close to the trail head on purpose and was rewarded for my efforts. He was tall and thick. Not as big as Emmett but large for a human. There was a cap over his head and he was bundled tightly in winter clothing. His face was red from the hike, a bead of sweat trickling down his cheek. He didn't exactly smell delicious, but for a starving animal, he would do. He could push the desire to kill Isabella away--he could make it all better.

I crouched like a panther, waiting for the moment I wanted and then I pounced. My body took flight, covering the span of space easily. I landed on his back, and he emitted a surprised grunt and cursed, his body splayed but immediately tensed and resistant.

He was a fighter. _Excellent._

I turned him around, flipping him on his back. I wanted to see the fear. I wanted him to see the animal that was going to take him out. Rainbows of light glittered off my body, showering him in color, in his mind he thought perhaps I was an angel, although he couldn't reconcile the terror he felt with the beauty in front of him.

He fought with his arms and his legs, even his head as he struggled uselessly on the ground. I growled in warning, showing him who was in control and almost laughed as he tried to figure out what and who I was.

"Don't," he gasped, as my knee sunk into his chest, and he struggled against my weight. One solid press and I would crush his internal organs out the other side. But it wasn't carnage I wanted, it was the liquid gold that ran through his veins. I cursed when I couldn't reach his flesh easily as he was covered head to toe in thick clothing.

"Stop," he argued, but I didn't respond. I didn't have to. I was the powerful one--he was mine for the taking. I released the tension and what I'd been holding back for days. My fingers grasped his hand, the one batting against my side in retaliation and I ripped off the black leather gloves encasing his fingers.

His mind raced, _What the fuck is this? Who is this? Is it a demon? He looks like an angel, glorious and beautiful, unearthly--but where the hell did he come from__? Certainly not Heaven…but, Hell? Why is he grabbing my hands, what are his fingers doing…_

He droned on and on…unable to grasp the moment at hand. Finally, I steadied him and leaned in close, "I'm going to kill you. That's what I'm doing."

It was all I could give him. The truth and, in turn, I watched as the realization colored his expression. "Don't…please…" he whispered, mostly because my hand was wrapped around his throat and it was difficult to breathe.

I pulled his wrist to my mouth, tearing the fabric off his coat for better access. Venom dripped eagerly, ready to numb and assault. The fervor rose in my body, the want and need and desire for blood and sustenance, overpowering everything else. I licked his skin, tasting the flavor, feeling his pulse under my tongue. His mind wouldn't stop and his fear forced the images into my brain, a woman, a house, a child, a car, a man…image after image ticked off, one by one, like a slide show, kid, _woman_, house, kid, _woman_, car, kid, _woman,_ desk, kid, _woman_, house, kid, _woman_, _woman…_

He was stuck on repeat, with the subject slowing becoming the same—all about the woman…_laughing and smiling, crying, walking or talking…straddling him, whispering in his ear…._

I tried to push him out but the images clung, I wasn't an empath, I received thoughts devoid of emotion, but this was too strong. His apparent love for her was too strong and for some reason it caused me to pause.

"You love her?" I mused, wondering if this is what love _looked_ like.

"What?" he whispered, shock and confusion filling his eyes.

I rolled my eyes at his slowness. _Keep up!_ "Her, the one you think of. With the blonde hair and green eyes….you love her?"

He nodded his eyes becoming oddly watery. "Yes. She's my life."

I tilted my head in question. "You possess her?"

He almost smiled, but not quite, his eye wary and focused on my mouth and sharp teeth. "No," he replied, "She possesses me."

I stared at him. The woods were silent other than the quiet drops of leaves and creaks of trees. I had him pushed back into the snow and he was shaking as much from the cold as from fear.

"I'm hungry," I declared obtusely, "It's either you or her."

His eyes widened with a flash of anger and bold images of his woman appeared. "No," I muttered, "Not her. _Her_. My her."

He calmed but only a bit, his heart thundering through my limbs. The man studied me, and with a quivering voice, said, "Take me then. I'd rather it be me than anyone else."

I looked at him with disbelief. He was willing to sacrifice for a woman he didn't know. I wasn't willing to sacrifice for anyone. No one--ever.

Confused and disturbed at this man's effortless decision, I narrowed my eyes and pulled his wrist to my lips. I dragged a sharpened nail down his white skin and a line of red appeared to which I ran my tongue over the sweet, coppery juice. The man gasped and yelped in pain but I took my nail again and widened the cut, forcing it to gape and flow. Before ducking my head, I looked him in the eye, using my powers to persuade.

"This doesn't hurt." I voiced.

He agreed while wincing, "No, it doesn't"

"When I finish, leave, go home and forget."

He nodded and his eyes were glued to mine, fear turning into a hazy compliance. He wasn't focused on my mouth, which had latched to the oozing flesh and had begun sucking, pulling the blood from his body and nourishing my own. No he was thinking of her, and if he would ever see her again. He thought of her like a prayer, making wishes on their past and desiring a future. I, in turn, drank, breaking the sobriety of the last two years on one drastic moment. The warm, delicious taste flowing down my throat proved it was worth it.

~*~

"Are you going to hurt me?"

Her words and rumbling heart cut through my silence.

"No," I possibly lied. I no longer knew. _Probably._

I was in my bedroom, changing my wet and dirtied clothes. I was about to burst out of my skin from the fresh blood and warmth running through my body. It was exhilarating! Isabella, on the other hand, was in the hallway with her her arms wrapped defensively around her waist. Distrust and tension filled the air, although she was brave enough to approach me as soon as I entered the room to discard the evidence of my hunt.

"Who are you?" she asked, wary and suspicious.

Had she forgotten? Was this part of the memory loss? The blood was making me giddy and unsure.

"I'm Edward. I found you in the woods and brought you here to safety," I said, with my back to her now, my hands bunching the bloodied shirt into a ball and shoving it into the back of my closet. I kept my eyes away from hers—mine were sure to be tinged in red, betraying my sins.

I peeked at her, keeping my eyes down, and saw she had me fixed with a glare."Tell me more. Your full name? Where are you from? Where did you go to school? What were you doing out in the woods when you found me?"

Her voice was demanding, falsely strong. She was terrified. I could smell it and feel it vibrating off her body. My mind scrambled around her questions, I had to make her trust me. I couldn't let her want to leave. I needed her to want to stay.

I pushed past her and entered the bathroom, changing my wet, mud splattered pants and socks. I rummaged through the medicine cabinet until my hands fell upon the small black case I had stored there and found the stash of gold tinted contacts buried deep inside. It was a relic from my past, used to fool humans and my family if necessary. Once inserted, I stared at my reflection in the mirror for a moment.

My hair was wild and I pawed at it trying to tame the untamable. My eyes were orangish now, transitioning from yellow to red and I leaned in to place the colored contacts over my pupil. Sighing deeply, I took a finger and wiped away an incriminating smudge of deep red blood that nestled in the crevice of my mouth. Satisfied that I looked remotely human and not like a feral beast, I emerged from the room.

Isabella was waiting in the same spot, an expectant look on her face. She looked almost as unruly as myself. Her hair in tufts and her clothes baggy and mismatched. Her skin was clear and smooth and for a moment I longed to touch it. Pausing before her, I allowed her absorb my cleanliness and answered her, "My full name is Edward Cullen."

I cursed myself for using Cullen and not Masen but it was too late. "I'm from Chicago but have lived in many places around the country—my family moved a lot. I went to Dartmouth and Bowman Gray Medical School, in Winston Salem." Her heart steadied with each question but her fear…it was still pungent, the aroma seeping heavily into the air.

For once, I didn't want the fear. I wanted approval.

"I was hiking in the woods…hunting, actually," I confessed. The memories of that day and my intention combined with the fresh blood filling my veins pumping wildly in my body.

Bella became distracted, apparently thinking over my words, and stared intently at the wood paneled wall. I waited impatiently for her to respond. I had no idea what she was thinking or focused on and I felt my temper rise so I took the opportunity to leave the room. I was overwhelmed by an emotion I hadn't felt in a long time.

_Shame._

She followed me down the stairs, trying to keep up with my longer legs and once we hit the first floor her eyes moved toward the kitchen, landing on the destruction. My destruction.

Her eyes snapped to mine. "How did you do that?" she asked, pointing to the pile of demolished wood on the floor.

"I…" _I almost crushed your skull. Drank you dry. Feasted on your flesh_. My words stuttered, catching on the truth, "I had an anxiety attack, and the wood—it was old and brittle—I apologize for scaring you."

She was skeptical, that much was certain, but it was all I had to offer that wasn't horrifying. "Anxiety attack?"

I nodded… was it really far from the truth? Not much. "I promise not to do it again—to control it. I'll be on my best behavior."

Bella shook her head and I raised an eyebrow in question, wondering what she was mentally refuting. Was it me and my lies? Was it her and her questions?

She began laughing quietly, a warm blush rising up her skin, "God, I thought you had super strength or something…" her hand rubbed against her temple, which oddly wasn't the location of her injury, "I think I'm losing it."

I smiled back and allowed a chuckle at her expense. _She was losing it_. "It's okay," I assured moving to the arm chair and sitting down. "You've had a rough week. Still having headaches?"

Her eyes flicked to the couch and I was ecstatic to see her drop her body into the cushion and grab the quilt from the back. She was making herself comfortable.

"I'm sorry I was so accusing," she apologized. "Really, I think I may be losing my mind. Is that a symptom of head trauma?"

_She apologized_.

_I apologize, too, __Isabella, for running out of here and drinking from an innocent and not feeling very guilty about it. I don't apologize for having the strength to spare you and for sparing his life. That is a first for me._

I didn't say these thoughts aloud instead reassuring, "Not your fault and no, but it's not surprising you're confused." I waved off her words with my hands. And it wasn't her fault…it was the cruel hand her life dealt her when our paths crossed.

I watched her yawn, but wasn't ready for her to leave so I hopped from my seat and, as slowly as I possibly could, I darted up the stairs to her room, returning with her book, but not before noting the name and author with interest.

"Would you like this?" I asked, offering her the hardbound book. Her eyes were closed, but I could tell from her breathing she was still awake.

Isabella slowly opened her eyes and offered me an appreciative grin. "Oh, thank you, it is a little early for bed, I guess."

I found a book of my own and we sat, quietly reading, pretending this scene was normal, that everything was as it should be. It was as though she was here by choice, and I wasn't holding her against her will. As though my body wasn't humming from fresh blood and her mere presence. My eyes didn't comprehend the words in front of me--it was unnecessary as I had read them all before. I thought about the man earlier and his comment on possession. That his woman possessed him and not the other way around. I thought of the images he fed to me and realized this could be true. Even in his thoughts he was mesmerized—almost worshiping her. That man didn't want to harm his woman and his final thoughts were of her. All he wanted in return was for her to love him in back.

"Edward?" She asked, breaking my concentration, and speaking as though there was anyone else in the room.

"Yes?"

"Earlier, when we were talking, I think maybe I had a memory." Isabella said this hesitantly, as though speaking the words aloud would make it disappear.

This caught my attention for sure and I almost whispered, "Tell me."

Isabella began spreading her fingers out over the quilt, tracing the pattern of the squares. "Your last name, Cullen? It seems familiar."

"It's a common name," I replied, keeping the squeak out of my voice.

"Yes, but…" she let the words hang and I hung right there with her. "It feels…familiar. It isn't just the word it's the feeling I get behind the word…it's comforting."

I watched her finger the quilt and offered nothing in return. What could I say? Nothing that wouldn't be a lie.

She looked up and caught my eye, a glimmer of hope shining deep inside. "Do you think it means something or is it just me acclimating you into my life?"

I swallowed and measured my words, "I don't know, I guess time will tell."

She leaned back and hugged her book to her chest. She looked different. Just this little bit of information, a glimpse of memory was enough to change her. She was…happy? Content? Hopeful? One of those, though I wasn't sure which. I'd seen these expressions before but had never felt it myself, but now, seeing it on her I realized I had been missing something.

Contentment.

Isabella sighed and gave me a small smile, and I gave her one in return. The way her lips curved was enchanting. I noticed the crease in the middle of her forehead softened for the first time in days. She was beautiful. I thought about the man and his words…and the idea of _possession_. I wanted her blood, and to compromise her body and take what wasn't mine--to lock her away forever, did this mean she possessed me or I possessed her?

Confused, I looked at her smile once again, and wondered what it would be like to have a smile like that, unaffected, natural and perfect, smile just for myself.

* * *

**Note: okay, in Twilight Edward SUCKS the venom/blood from Bella's arm without infecting her with his own venom. This is canon. In the woods he makes a cut and sucks the blood out, drinking from him but not puncturing his body with his teeth or venom. It may be a stretch but i'm only using what Smeyer gave me.

thanks to angstgoddess003/lts29/revrag for all the help. i appreciate it so much.

thanks to twilusted for making me a gorgeous banner for DiE! I appreciate it so much!

*RL is kicking my ass this week. I do not think i will update next week. knowing me i will feel guilty and do it anyway but be prepared if i don't. workwise i always have some busy times and this is one of them. Plus, FINE, i won't lie...NM is distracting me heavily...i will try to keep focused.

*AG and I collaborated for a O/S for the When Love Was New contest. the title is Diving Headlong and its up on my profile. If you haven't go check it out.


	11. Chapter 11

Daedalus in Exile

Chapter 11

~*~

The storm clouds rolled back in through the afternoon and by night fat pieces of snow and ice were coating the surfaces outside.

I was in my room, pretending to sleep while listening to the enthralling squeaks and moans from across the hall.

Isabella was having a nightmare.

This wasn't new. She'd had them since the first night, but it was clear from her reactions this one was more intense. I assumed it was about me…either the fateful day we met, the fateful day I saved her or even the fateful time earlier this very day when I crushed a pile of wood into sawdust only to flee and return red eyed and feral.

It really could be any of those.

So as I listened to her sharp, quick breaths and her erratically pounding heart, I sat in the chair by the window, still and quiet, fighting several different urges to enter her room. These urges frustrated and fascinated me at the same time. The whimpers sounded like one of my victims twisting under my merciless thumb. The heavy breaths caused a stirring in my stomach that I'd never considered before, and the heartbeat… it echoed through my body, taunting and alive.

The conflict would have been unbearable if not masochistically tempting.

Her feet twisted in the sheet, the noise rough and impatient and I considered how Isabella Swan brought out emotions in me I had long thought dormant. I drew forward, my hands atop my knees in anticipation as she reached some kind of climax in her dream, her heart racing and her words, "stop… stop… don't let it crush me," resonating through my walls and then she woke.

Quiet filled the air once again. Her heartbeat decreased slowly and her breathing became deeper, losing the shallowness of fear. The bed springs shift and creak under her weight and I can feel rather than hear her feet as they touch the floor. Assuming she is on her way to the bathroom, I wait, intrigued by her movements and late night activities.

She does pass by my room and I hear the door down the hall click and the sound of rushing water. But what happens next is a surprise, because as she approaches my room her feet pause and I can hear her—no feel her--hand touch my door.

Standing, I crossed the room and placed my hand on the smooth wood and yanked it back—a shock of electricity had jolted through my hand and I could sense her, on the opposite side of the door. I couldn't take it anymore and swung it open to reveal a disheveled, red-eyed Isabella on the other side.

"Oh," she gasped in surprise, her face turning red and her small hands wringing themselves dramatically.

I'd braced myself for her—holding my breath—but the attempt was futile and I inhaled deeply, reveling in the pain and delight of Isabella. "Is something wrong?"

She blinks back tears, and a human would have to strain to hear her voice, but I wasn't human. She whispered, "I had a nightmare."

Isabella looked so small. I towered over her anyway, almost a foot taller, but she was huddled and vulnerable in her pajamas and socked feet.

I intentionally furrowed my brow and went for a concerned expression. I wasn't concerned--I was excited that she had come to me. That she was sharing with me. She _needed_ me.

"A nightmare?"

She nodded, still obviously embarrassed, but her eyes flicked toward the two chairs in the back of my room.

"Would you like to come in? Tell me about it?" I asked. I was desperately trying to figure out how to handle this, how to comfort her.

She sighed heavily, coating me with a wave of her breath. It was almost as though she stunned me, her scent like poison, causing my eyes to blink in a haze, but her smile won me over and I pushed the door wider allowing her to enter.

I gestured to one of the two chairs, and fought a grimace when she perched on the edge of one. Perching was not a _comfortable_ position, but I kept the observation to myself and lowered myself across from her.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" _Please, please, tell me about it._

Her hands shook over the arms of the chair and she replied, "Do you mind? I feel like I need to talk it out—get it out of my mind."

I nodded encouragingly. I desperately wanted to know what was in her mind.

"It was weird but so realistic. Everything was in slow motion." I nodded again, pretending to understand, "I was in a parking lot...getting into a car…my car? I don't know. And suddenly—ugh it was so loud—there was this squealing. Tires on pavement. The kind that you hear right before a collision—you just know it's going to happen." Her hands were wringing again and I considered if I should touch her, calm her—_would that be the normal thing to do?_

Isabella took another deep breath and shuddered, "I looked over my shoulder and saw this van, blue, and huge careening toward me."

She stopped to wipe the tears from the corner of her eye--she was badly shaken—almost unable to fully speak. This dream had quite an effect on her.

"Was that it? Did you wake up in the middle?" I blurted, consumed by curiosity. I wanted more.

"No, that isn't it. The van was coming at me…full speed and I knew, I just knew I couldn't get out of the way in time so I just froze…right in the path of the van."

I stand up and walk across the room, pulling a handkerchief out of my dresser and offering it to her as I sat back down. She wiped her eyes and her nose and instead of being disturbed by her fluids, I was angered that she would be upset by something as trivial as a dream. I didn't like Isabella upset.

It bothered me.

"So it hit you?" It was all I could think to ask. Something horrible must have happened to elicit such a response.

"No," she whispered and looked at me with wide, brown eyes and soft pink lips. "No, it didn't. Someone saved me."

I swallowed and had a strong feeling about who that was that saved her. It would be common and natural for her to think it was me…after all, I had saved her from the lion attack—it was just that she transferred one incident for an imaginary one. But, I wanted to hear it from her—just to hear the thought from her lips. "Who saved you? What happened?"

She blushed, confirming my idea, "It was one of those things, you know a dream thing, where one minute it was one thing and then the next it was something else entirely. At first, just as the van was about to crush me, you darted out and pushed the van off—crushing the side and hovered over me for protection."

I could only stare. It was fascinating.

"But then it switched and I was on the ground, blood oozing down my face and this girl, tiny and afraid, was over me, lifting the van off my leg and wiping my forehead." She reached up and touched the scar that marred her skin, "Right here. The wound was right here."

My head tilted on instinct, as it tends to do when I am working out a problem. Something was off.

"A girl? With super strength?" I fought to keep my voice even—although it was close to impossible. "What did she look like." _Tiny and afraid_, that's what she said. Half of that sounded familiar. _Too_ familiar.

"She was short, black hair and eyes…well, kind of like yours…golden actually. She was so small, but looked at me with such kindness." She sat up straighter, "Edward, it was so real. Everything from the squeal of the breaks, to the crunch of the metal, even the smell of my blood in the air."

"But I wasn't there." I replied…but had the strangest sense of déjà vu ever. _I _wasn't there but someone else may have been in my place.

She wrinkled her nose and sat back in the chair, "No, obviously you weren't. But…do you think it happened? Do you think it's a memory? I have the scar..."

I nodded slowly remembering the look of pleasure on her face when she had a memory yesterday, but this one was too close. She was so close to remembering Alice and possibly the rest of the family. I was afraid of what would happen when she did. I was afraid of what decisions I would have to make at that time. "I agree it's possible—I told you from the beginning I thought you would get your memories back. But I guess maybe they'll be jumbled up for a while."

We sat for a moment absorbing the information. The snow fell outside the window effortlessly and Isabella pulled her knees to her chest, the tips of her toes hanging off the edge of the seat.

"It was really scary." She said looking out the window.

I watched her and thought of ways to soothe her, but nothing seemed right. I grappled for words but eventually asked, "Are you afraid now?"

Her eyes slid back to mine, and held steady. "No."

~*~

I'd fixed Isabella some tea and brought her book and allowed her to spend the rest of the night curled up on the chair in my room. I pretended to read next to her while I really just watched her every move. Her dream intrigued me. It was vivid, and was most likely a memory that involved my sister and if true, it only added to the mysterious relationship between Isabella and Alice.

At dawn she was ready to return to bed, the light of day making the bad dreams less, I suppose, and once I was convinced she was asleep, I ducked out back to the workshop.

As soon as I reached my worktable I dug though the box and pulled out her wallet. I'd seen something the other day that at the time seemed trivial, but now, after recent revelations, could have significant meaning.

Quickly, I pulled the business cards from the sleeve and sorted through until I found the one I was looking for:

Dr. Mark Welling, MD, PC

Overcliff Neurosurgery

1150 Overcliff Parkway

Suite 104

Durham, NC 98112

This wasn't a doctor I was familiar with but I flipped the card over to find a phone number on the back and had opened my phone and begun dialing before I really even considered the consequences.

It only rang twice before I heard, "Overcliff Neurosurery, can I help you?" from a chipper woman responding from the other end.

I paused, what was I doing? "Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Yes…yes, this is Dr. Carlisle Cullen, I was calling in regards to some information about one of my patients." I said, using my father's name before I could think. My voice was authoritative and calm—like Carlisle would have been.

"What kind of information are you looking for?" she asked. I could hear papers shuffling and phones ringing in the background.

I sighed. I hated talking to people. "I need her files sent to my office--she came to me for a consultation."

"Name?"

"Isabella Swan."

"Okay, one moment," I heard tapping and the sound of efficient keystrokes as she searched Isabella's name. The movement stopped and I could hear her mumbling under her breath, "Isabella Swan, age twenty-two, traumatic head injury…" but she stopped and I heard the definitive rolling of her chair as she moved away from the computer.

I heard the metal slide and clank of a drawer being opened and further paper shuffling. I wondered how long she would keep me waiting and was pleased when I heard her speak again, "Yes, I have Ms. Swan's paperwork here, she signed a consent form when she first came in, but it will take a day or two to get you the information. Dr. Cullen you said?"

"Yes," I breathed in relief, ecstatic to have found it so easily, "my name is Carlisle Cullen."

"I see you are on this file as the admitting doctor from the emergency room from the original incident."

My mind reeled at this information. "Yes, I am, when I worked in Forks."

"You're no longer there?" she asked.

"No, I moved into private practice, in this part of the country actually," I replied, digging my hole deeper and deeper. "Isabella came to me as her primary caregiver and I wanted to be updated on her current history."

"Of course," she replied, "I will send these, although it may take a day or so."

"Fine," I answered and offered my P.O. Box as an address in town.

After I thanked her and hung up I reached for the newspaper clipping once more and unfolded it. I now knew for certain that my sister and my father had contact with Isabella while in Forks. Alice and I hadn't spoken face to face in over two years. Carlisle and I met monthly, yet, he had never said a word even though he knew the state of mind I was in. _Probably due to the state of mind I was in._

I figured I had two days or so before the paperwork would come in the mail. I was eager and excited to see it—to learn more. I wondered if part of it was in Carlisle's own hand. How he blocked this from me for all these years was a mystery, although, by the time I returned to them they had moved from Forks and were carrying on a different set of charades.

I hid the wallet and went back to the house. I was surprised to find Isabella in the kitchen heating water on the stove.

"Hi," I offered, and shut the door behind me, wiping my boots on the mat by the door.

"Cold out?" she asked, giving me a light smile.

I had no idea really, the temperature didn't effect me but I saw the thermostat by the door, it read 20 degrees. "Yes, it's really quite cold." I shivered dramatically.

"I still couldn't sleep so I came down and saw you were out…" she said, letting her words trail. Her tone was indifferent but her eyes were questioning.

I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the wet spots from where snow hit me on my way to the barn. "I have a workshop out back, in the old barn…I went out to check on some things."

"A workshop?"

I shifted and ran my fingers through my hair a second time. She was eyeing me intently, focused and…she seemed more interested than she had been before. "Yes, just tools and stuff…nothing really important." I wasn't ready to share my projects and hiding spots with her—not yet.

The whistle blew on the kettle, exhausting warm, moist air into the kitchen and she ran over to remove it from the heat. I watched as Isabella poured the water and placed bags of tea into two mugs she must have located in a cabinet.

She turned and offered me one, "I made one for you."

I reached out for the handle, "Thank you."

The whole scene was civilized--even domesticated. It felt oddly calming but at the same time a bit stifling. When did Isabella decide to prepare tea in my kitchen? For me? Someone she has never seen eat?

My fingers wrapped around the mug and grazed her warm fingertips. She jumped and blushed, a shy smile crossing her face.

"Your fingers are so cold." She said, rubbing the tips that touched mine with her other hand.

I shrugged and played it off but couldn't help but notice the strange look on her face. She seemed…flustered. "I forgot my gloves outside."

She gestured toward the living room and I followed but stopped before sitting in my usual chair while she tucked into the couch. I was happy to note that Isabella looked comfortable. I wasn't sure why she was now, after the dreams and my violent outburst from the day before, but nevertheless she did.

"Do you mind if I check your wound?" I asked, thinking it had been since yesterday that I'd looked it over for infection.

She nodded her agreement and I placed my mug on the table next to the couch. I walked behind her and used my finger tips to push her head forward lightly and inspected the area of the injury. Despite the fact my hands were warmer from holding the hot mug of tea, Isabella still shivered under my touch.

"Are you cold?" I asked, brushing her hair away from the wound. "Are my fingers still cold? I apologize."

"No," she replied, but shivered again, barely, as I graced the skin on her hairline. "I'm not cold."

Perplexed by her chills, I rested the back of my hand over the white flesh on her neck checking for fever. "You don't seem feverish" I told her.

Isabella twisted her head toward me, "I'm fine Edward, just a little chill."

I dropped her hair gently, smoothing it with my hand, fingering the strands at the bottom. I was content her wound was healing appropriately and picked up my mug of tea and sat in my chair.

"It looks fine—like it's healing." I explain to her.

She smiled gratefully, "Thank you." She ran a hand through her hair and made a disgusted face, "Ugh. Do you think it will ever grow back…from where you cut it?"

"Around the wound? Yes. On the wound and scar itself? Probably not, but it's well hidden I promise." I stifled a laugh at her vanity, thinking of how her beauty to me was not in her physical attributes but in more obscure ways.

She rolled her eyes but seemed accepting of my words.

"Are you feeling better now? You must be exhausted if you haven't slept yet." I said, while pretending to take tentative sips from my hot tea.

Oddly her eyes lit up, "I do feel better and I'm not really tired. I think I'm too excited to be tired."

"Excited?"

She blushed a little and took a deep breath, "I've decided my dream was real." She must have seen my dubious expression, which wasn't really dubious but was really just my way of trying to stay collected because she continued, "Not all of it. But I think the accident was real—or parts of it—and I think the girl was real."

My hand immediately shoved in my hair nervously. My first reaction was to deny it but at the last moment I decided not to be a jerk and brush her off. Instead I went for my doctor role and began probing for more.

"Okay," I said, placing my mug on the side table, "Tell me exactly why you think the girl was real. Exactly what do you recall about her."

Isabella became quite animated at my question. She sat taller and folded her legs into one another. "Okay, so, she was small—I told you that."

"Wait," I interrupted, and having no clear idea why I would do that, "how much smaller than you? Because really, Isabella, you're pretty tiny yourself."

Again her face heated and she twisted a little in her seat. "She was smaller than I am, her hands…when they touched my forehead…were so cold. I felt an immediate sense of relief."

"Relief?" Isabella just described a vampire's touch and felt _calmed _by it. This woman was extraordinary.

"I felt safe," she said quietly and even lower she whispered, "like I feel with you. Like I know everything is going to be okay."

How I wanted to tell this fragile being in front of me that everything was going to be okay, and that she was safe but it just wasn't true. The statement settled into the space between us. It was bold and I was too weak to respond with the truth. Instead I whispered in return, "How do you know that? How do you know it will all be okay?"

Because I for one, was not sure at all.

Isabella's face twisted. Her eyes began blinking rapidly and she responded, louder than before, "Because Edward, I have no memories—no past. I know nothing of my life or my future. All I have is hope. And my dream last night showed me that. That even in a moment of crisis, someone will be there to help you and to give you hope. In my dream it was that woman but in life, right now, it is you."

I felt my head shift to the side and my eyes narrow at her words. I was incredulous. No one had ever spoken such words to me. I didn't think they were true. I _knew_ they weren't true.

Isabella looked at me with kind, watery eyes and I couldn't take her hope away, like mine had been stripped so long ago. "I'm glad you have faith in me." I responded, unable to promise any more than that.

Her next question shocked me, "Have you ever had to trust someone explicitly? To follow them blindly, to hope they would see you through to the other end?"

I thought of Carlisle and everything he had done for me, how he taught me and showed me the ways of this life. I considered how he fulfilled my mother's wishes and for decades did everything he could to give me hope. Yet, for all his efforts, I was still without hope.

I swallowed and acknowledged, "My father. My adopted father. He tried to be this for me."

"Tried?" She asked, her eyes searching my face, "Does this mean he failed."

I caught her eye and held it steady, "No, Isabella, he didn't fail. I did."

I was allowing too much. More than I had before—her innocence and vulnerability left me exposed. I felt sick from revealing this information. I felt weak and powerless. Admitting my failures was unheard of and now, she was placing her trust in me. _In me!_

She was foolish and I was pathetic. I was a vampire that couldn't even kill the one he wanted most. No, instead I chose to torture myself further, prolonging my madness.

I broke eye contact and stood abruptly, briskly walking to the door--making an effort to stop and get my coat, hat and gloves for her benefit.

"Edward," she called, and I stopped, tilting my head so I could see her in my peripheral. She was still on the couch, but on her knees, leaning over the back of the couch toward me. "I'm sorry. Don't go." She said--it almost sounded like begging.

She wanted me to stay. She wanted _me_ to stay. Even after I admitted I was inadequate.

Isabella was confused, and had no idea what she was getting into. I looked away from her before I relented and walked to the door. I needed some air and space and time alone but as my fingers touched the knob I could see her reflection in the window. Sincerity was flashing from her eyes and she was just so…small. I dropped my hand and turned, removing my winter clothes. Inexplicably, she sighed in relief and smiled a tiny smile.

I returned it and understood that even though I was inadequate, she wanted me. I was all she had. I also understood that in turn, she was all I had as well. We were in this together.

"I'll stay," I announced, feeling awkward and strange.

Isabella had a power over me I hadn't expected.

She offered me a smile and gestured back to the chair I had been sitting in.

With an intriguing red face and a quickly thudding heartbeat, Isabella burrowed back into the couch and said, "Never feel like you have to run from me Edward."

I felt an odd, unidentifiable, spasm in my stomach and promised, "I won't--not anymore."

* * *

OOkay!

Sorry this was "late" but I told you so.

NM was awesome. Was there enough Edward? No. but we knew this going in. It's why we write AU's. Can i wait for Remember Me? No. poor AG is already about to kill me.

Special Thanks to Revrag for the beta~~

Thanks to the 5 awesome readers who bought pre-reads in the Fandom Gives Back Auction!

Recs for the holiday weekend--what I'm reading right now...

The Caged Bird~by Kristen Nicole

Fourteen~by Crimsonmarie

Northern Lights & Whiskey Lullabies ~ by songirl (this one is a special fave--give it a shot)

I'd love to know what you thought of this chapter and please have an awesome Thanksgiving if you celebrate!


	12. Chapter 12

Daedalus in Exile

Chapter 12

~*~

The following days developed into a routine. The snow passed over us for good, although the temperature stayed low enough for minimal melting.

Everywhere I went in the house Isabella seemed to be mere steps behind, which wasn't entirely unpleasant, even if sometimes disconcerting. It was almost as though she was afraid to let me out of her sight—that if she strayed more than five feet away I would disappear.

I knew the feeling.

It was difficult though. Her scent would waft over me at the most unexpected times. She had become quite active—insisting on cleaning and cooking for herself (and me.) She expressed a desire to make herself useful and she plead with me, using her dark brown, soul-filled eyes to convince me to let her tackle household chores in appreciation for my helping her.

I stared at her uncomfortably when she made this comment. As it was true, I _was_ helping her, but I was also…not. But I was in so deep at this point there was little I could do but agree.

Currently, I was staring at myself in the mirror over my dresser. I'd just emerged from the shower and was drying off when I paused, probing my fingers across the purplish skin under my eyes and noted the darkened hue of my pupils. They were still red and every day I put in contacts to cover the consequences of the sinful acts I had committed. I tugged a shirt over my head and found some clean pants to wear in the closet and dressed myself before retreating from my room.

"I'm going to make some breakfast, would you like some?" she asked from the kitchen, beating me downstairs this morning. I was intrigued by her sudden hunger. Most days, I had to encourage her to have a meal. But now she was happily moving about the kitchen dressed in her typical t-shirt and sweatpants. The pants were rolled over several times to keep them on her waist and the shirt gaped at the neck. She was too skinny, and the clothes I had purchased were too large. I noticed today that her hair was twisted in some kind of knot in the back that allowed me to see her wound easily.

I considered her question as I lowered myself into a chair at the table. I wanted breakfast, I did, but I wanted it in the form of a twelve point buck that I caught after a five mile chase. "No thank you, I'm really not hungry."

Isabella gave me a quizzical side look, as she began rummaging around the drawers and cabinets of the kitchen. "You don't each much for a man your size."

The only thing I could offer her was a shrug, what other explanation did I have that didn't dig my hole further? My arms were getting tired.

"Sleep well?" I asked, wanting to change the subject and desperately wanting to know the answer to this question. I'd heard her muffled whispers through the walls last night. It took incredible discipline not to go in there.

I'd forced myself to stop at the door.

She looked sad at my question, which meant she gained little insight of her memories. The days she felt she made headway her eyes sparkled as if on fire. I watched as she pushed bread into the toaster and fiddled with the knobs before saying, "I dreamed a little. There were images of a small white house. It was comfortable looking and nestled against a thick, wet forest. Then it shifted and the house was dwarfed next to a huge one, with big glass windows and many levels. I found myself on the porch unable to open the door." She laughed sadly, "I just kept pulling at the door knob and banging my fists on the door. I really wanted inside for some reason."

In her sleep she had muttered the word, 'Charlie,' at least once and had argued, 'no, no, I'm fine, it's just a little scratch,' but now those memories seemed trapped to her sleep. I knew of course she was dreaming of her home and of mine, but the connection was lost on her and I fought a sigh of relief that she was still in the dark.

The timer on the toaster went off and she laid the toast on a plate and gathered it and her mug of tea to bring over to the table. Isabella settled into her seat and I fished a pill out of my pocket, her antibiotic, and slid it across the table.

"Let me get you some water," I offered and was up before she could protest.

She took the glass and swallowed the pill easily. I watched her throat as it bobbed—the water and pill washing down. "Thank you," she said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "You know, I don't mean to be pushy, but I'm a little worried we may run out of food. And I haven't had a vegetable or piece of fruit in days—that can't be good." She said the last part with a nervous laugh.

I felt my brow furrow, "We've run out already?" I ask sincerely. I had no idea how much food one human girl would eat. I hadn't thought that far ahead, who knew a week into all of this she would still be here…and eating? And fruit? I hadn't even considered. No wonder she was so thin. I was forcing her into malnourishment.

"I'll go to the store today," I stated and bit back a shudder at the thought of entering _that _store again. Offering to make a trip to town for food would allow me to go hunting and to go check my mail box for her medical files.

Isabella's eyes shifted and her fingers gripped the table, "The roads are open?"

"I'm not sure," I admitted truthfully, "My driveway is not passable but the roads may be." I had no idea why I was allowing this. If the roads were clear then she could feasibly leave. I really didn't want her to leave.

"How long is your driveway?" Isabella asked carefully.

I paused, weighing my words, "Several miles. But I can hike out now that the snow has stopped. I've done it before." _Barefoot_, I wanted to add but wisely didn't.

Isabella looked conflicted but finally agreed, "Yes, you should go." I watched, mesmerized as she bit into her top lip and pressed into the soft, red flesh. "Just, umm…." She began but wavered running her hand over the back of her neck.

"Just what?" I prompted. It was the little moments like this that frustrated me the most– not knowing what she was thinking.

She ducked her head and I watched the red heat run up her exposed neck to her ears, "Just promise you'll come back."

I just stared at her, and wondered how this happened. How did Isabella come to rely on me and not fear me? It was what I'd wanted—I wanted her to stay here, with me until I was ready to let her go…and it seemed like maybe this was now the case, that she had come to trust me. It was based on lies but it was still the reality we existed in.

"I promise."

Her face lit up at my words and she graced me with a wide smile that I returned. Awkwardly, I stood and walked to the desk, returning with a pad of paper and a pen. I placed them in front of her and said, "Make me a list so I get the things you need--anything Isabella."

She nodded and began writing.

Xxx

I'd had an accomplished day. I sniffed out my buck, hunted it down, and drank it to depletion. It wasn't nearly as good as a random hiker, and I suspected nothing compared to the pleasures and joy Isabella could bring me, but in the end it was food and it was what I needed to stay functional.

After this I ran to town and discovered the roads were still slippery in spots up and down the mountain. I saw more than one accident on the edges of the highways and it was clear that as the huge drifts of snow melted, the flooding would be substantial. It would take weeks for everything to thaw out and dry up.

I made it in and out of Walmart faster this time. I formulated a mental game plan before I entered with my Isabella approved list in hand. I had a tense moment in the cereal aisle—there were so many choices. Bran, flakes, puffs…my head began to swirl from the brightly colored packages, some adorned with cartoon characters, the others with toothy men and women obviously pleased with their choices. Finally, in a fit of self-preservation I grabbed two boxes at random and shoved them in the cart.

Once out of that black hole I managed to get the rest of the items on her list. I was curious at some things, although they made sense. She was a female and there were things I had forgotten and sizes I'd mixed up. I bought her plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables—if I was going to keep her I needed her healthy and well.

I tried not to think of it as 'fattening the cow.' Instead I looked at it as though she was my treasure and she deserved to be treated as such.

I stowed my purchases into a larger backpack this time and made my way to the post office to check my mail. I was eager to see the medical records, and as I swung open the metal door I was relived to find a thick envelope crammed in the small space.

I pulled it out, taking a quick glance around with paranoia to make sure no one saw me and my materials before I shoved them into the backpack. I'd already decided I would read these in my workshop at home later.

Trudging back in the snow, I considered what information the paperwork inside held. Her injury must have been quite severe for her to still be under the care of a neurologist. But she seemed quite mobile and even with the recent wound she was coherent and intelligent. She did complain of headaches though, and not on the back of her head but more on the front.

I picked up my pace, eager to get home. About a mile or two from the cabin my phone buzzed, and I quickly fished it from my pocket and checked the screen. It was Carlisle, of course.

"Hello Carlisle," I said after I pressed the talk button.

"Edward, how are you?" he asked.

I slowed my pace a little, wanting to buy time to talk before I returned home. "Good—the weather is still less than desirable but otherwise I'm fine."

Carlisle hummed in agreement and we discussed it a while before he said, "I was calling to let you know I hoped to come up next week, maybe on Monday."

My feet stopped their movement.

"Monday?" I stalled. There was no way he could come on Monday. The house reeked of Isabella and well…there was the issue that Isabella was still there. And if he knew her—treated her? Frankly, there was no way Carlisle could return to the cabin again— possibly ever.

"Yes, Monday, I had some business in Asheville, I thought I could come by on my way…perhaps we could hunt before my meeting."

"I…I…" I stuttered, the word sticking in my throat.

Vampires don't stutter. _I_ don't stutter. Carlisle knew this.

"Edward? Is everything okay?"

"Yes," I covered, "Yes… I'm hunting and I got distracted. So Monday? I was also planning on going into town--I need to pick up some books."

Carlisle paused, it was a beat longer than it should have been and I waited for him to call me out. I could envision him at this moment. Poised and tall—his blonde hair perfectly in place. He was probably standing in his study, surrounded by his books and artwork, trying to figure out what to say. I waited for him to tell me he knew. He could know all of it or just a little…he could be on his way to the cabin right now or Alice could be feeding him the truth, small and forceful by his side. I even wondered if the doctor's office could have contacted him after my call. It could be any of these things yet…

"Sounds good, should we meet at the book store?" He asked in his regular tone.

That was easier than expected. "Yes," I replied, "I'll meet you at four."

I'd begun walking again and was planning on hanging up but before I did I blurted, "How's Alice?"

Again there was quiet on the other end of the line. Eventually he answered, "Alice is fine."

I reached up and tugged off my hat, threading my fingers into my hair, "I've been thinking about her lately. And wondering how she is." I explained unnecessarily, "I realize how much I missed during our time apart."

Carlisle sighed heavily before replying simply, "Just remember, Edward, the choices you make every day effect your relationships. Alice still needs time, you hurt her badly—but I have faith that one day she will forgive you. But, only if you continue on the right path--she has to be able to trust you before she can let you back in. You know more than anyone what it's like to live with her gift." He paused and sighed again, "She doesn't just see things, Edward, she _experiences _them….she can't go through it again."

For once I felt a tinge of guilt. We'd had this conversation many times over the years and never, not once, had I felt remorseful for my actions when it came to Alice's visions. I had my own gift to bear and had to learn how to manage it—Alice needed to do the same. I'd been clean for two years and I felt she needed to relent and accept my apologies, but now, days after a fresh attack I understood a bit more what Carlisle was saying. I was weak and I'd succumbed once again. If Alice had been watching she would have experienced my failure all over again.

"I know," I agreed quietly. I opened my mouth and almost told him of my slip, but I didn't. I couldn't. I couldn't risk him coming to my house to intervene.

"I'll tell her you asked," he said, "see you Monday."

"Monday," I said and disconnected.

~*~

I spread the papers out on the weathered wood table, checking the window one last time to make sure she hadn't seen me slip in the door. What I was doing was morally irresponsible, ethically horrible and legally? Well, if I was a real doctor they could have my license. I wasn't even sure why the office sent the paperwork over so easily, but I wasn't about to complain.

The packet of information was thick, filled with test results and notes from various doctors that she had seen over the years. I flipped through them quickly, absorbing the information scribbled and typed on the papers in front of me. One thing was clear. Isabella's accident had been bad. Very bad.

Almost fatal.

I involuntarily shuddered as I considered what would have occurred if Alice hadn't stepped in. There would have been blood…everywhere.

I found the emergency room report in Carlisle's elegant script and fight the wave of bitterness that washed over me. It seemed a student's van careened into Isabella in the school parking lot and would have crushed her if Alice hadn't pulled her out of the way at the last moment. But in the rush to get away, Isabella fell forward and hit her head on the pavement damaging her frontal lobe. I paused and wondered how much of this was due to the force Alice had to use to save her. I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if I had been there instead, like in her dream.

I shook my head at myself. Considering the amount of blood and my overwhelming desire for her at the time? It would have been disastrous.

It appeared Isabella suffered from a fairly severe injury the day of her accident. She was unconscious for a short period of time, but the resulting symptoms were intriguing. When she woke she had a period of nausea and dizziness. Isabella had experienced dizziness here as well. I considered how she had to use her hands to constantly support and steady herself. But there was no memory loss, nothing severe, at least, the first time.

I found forms from Carlisle, referring her to a specialist in Seattle and she made several visits there with her father. Apparently, there was some concern due to a change in her sleeping patterns and some general fatigue and lethargy she had. The neurologist notes that her father, Chief Swan, mentioned a change in behavior. That his quiet, reserved little girl had become quite fanciful and much more outgoing. After the accident she also switched from her love of the classics to more modern literature--that she had developed an obsession with the paranormal—specifically normal people with superior strength and speed.

_Interesting._

The doctor's notes explain that these symptoms or outcomes are normal and that eventually she may return to her typical behaviors but then again, she may not. This is the outcome of traumatic brain injuries. He prescribed that she see him twice a year for recall evaluation and then there is a note about her leaving for school in North Carolina, and he gives her a referral for a neurologist in Raleigh, with whom she had several routine visits.

I took a moment to look over her prior history. Her mother and father seemed to be in good physical condition. They were both young when they had her, only now in their mid-forties. It would seem though that Isabella had quite the history of balance impairment and coordination issues prior to the accident also. There were countless reports of emergency room visits for stitches and sprains—most before the injury.

Sighing, I looked around the musty barn and wondered what it all meant. Isabella had now suffered a second major head injury, her coma lasting longer and developing memory loss.

She needed a hospital.

I reached for the envelope and neatly tucked the papers inside before stashing them with the other incriminating evidence I had squirreled away on my work table. I realized I needed to do a bit more research and think things over before I made any rash decisions.

~*~

On the stairs to the cabin I noticed some disturbance in the layers of snow that covered the steps. I inhaled deeply and caught a faint whiff of Isabella on one of the railings that edges the porch.

She'd come outside.

I looked behind me to see if her footprints marred the white ground between the house and the barn but mine were the only visible ones. It seemed she only made it to the stairs before she turned back. Removing my boots and shrugging off my coat, I entered the kitchen and found her easily, by scent and sound, lounging on the couch in front of the fire I had made before leaving this morning.

"Hello," I greeted when she peeked over the edge of the couch and gave me a smile. I rested my backpack on the counter top, still split and damaged from my outburst earlier in the week. Ignoring the evidence of my meltdown I began unloading the groceries and supplies I'd purchased in town.

She hopped from her seat and rounded the couch, but I couldn't help but notice how her hand reflexively reached for the edge, balancing herself, as she walked toward the kitchen.

"Successful trip?" She asked as she walked up to the counter and rested her elbows on the wooden top. Isabella cradled her chin in her hands and watched me as I removed the items from inside the bags.

I suppressed a smile at her interest, "I suppose so, although…" I paused and made a face, "Do you know how many varieties of cereal there are Isabella?"

Her brow furrowed and she laughed, "Hundreds? I guess, maybe I wasn't specific enough. I figured you would just get something you liked."

There were approximately one hundred and thirty-six types of cereal at Walmart. I kept this information to myself.

"No," I replied in all seriousness, "You were not. I finally just got these."

I pulled the slightly smashed boxes out of a bag and handed them over and watched as her eyes grew wide as she studied the boxes with interest, "Well, lucky for you I am a fan of marshmallows and sugar coated puffs _and _at the same time like to get a healthy dose of fiber in my diet. Thank you, Edward."

Her tone was mocking and when I looked up, sure enough there was a glimmer of humor in her eye. She was making fun of me and oddly, I found it refreshing.

I continued to unload the packages and Isabella moved next to me, grabbing things and searching out locations to store them away, she was chest deep in the refrigerator when she asked, "How were the roads? Was it difficult?"

I pointed down to my jeans, wet at the knees but dry below since I had been wearing boots, "The drifts come up to about here in some places. It would be close to your thigh I would imagine, but I know these woods well and was able to make some short cuts."

I glanced up from my wet pants and caught Isabella standing with her hand on the door of the refrigerator, blushing a bit. Running her hand over her hair she continued, "But you made it out?"

She wanted out.

And she needed out. She needed a doctor, but the only way to get her there was to carry her and I didn't think this would go over well. "I did. The driveway is impassable and the roads are slick. I saw at least two cars left on the edges of the roads. If it warms up though, and the flooding isn't too horrible, I think we can leave in a couple days…maybe next week?"

She nodded, her eyes shifting away from mine and I couldn't help but notice the way her teeth bit into the soft flesh of her lip.

"I'll keep checking everyday to see when it's possible," I offered, wondering why I was saying these things when the simple thought of letting her go made me feel ill.

"Great," she said quietly but she didn't look as pleased as I would've suspected. I watched her as she gathered up the plastic bags and shoved them into one another, making a tiny ball.

I reached in the backpack and pulled out the last bag without looking at it. It was the personal items she'd requested. Items like lotion and a razor and feminine things like tampons. I'd found them quickly in the store and thought about my father--my real father--and how he would have handled purchasing such items for my mother.

Never would've happened.

I slid the bag across the counter and said, "These are yours too," and left it at that.

"Thanks," she replied, her face tinting red again. She looked at me thoughtfully and for a moment I was afraid she was going to make me talk about things like lotion and razors and tampons and I froze on the spot but instead she said, "What's that behind your house?"

I almost sighed in relief. Almost.

It took me a minute to speak. "It's a garden…of sorts." I replied. No one knew about the garden except for Carlisle.

"Really?" she asked and I could tell by the lifting of her voice she wasn't convinced. "It looks massive…has it been here all along?"

I needed to move—my body that is. I had been standing for too long without breathing or shifting. I grabbed the wad of bags off the counter and walked them over to the trash can. "No," I replied, closing the cabinet that held the trash bin with a snap, "I've been building it…working on it."

Her eyes lit up in respect, "Really? You built the wall and the pathway?"

I nodded and shoved my hands in my pockets feeling exposed.

"Can we go out and see it sometime?"

I looked at Isabella, so enthusiastic about something so small. She must be bored out of her mind with only me and the books I had to offer. The garden was mine though. I'd never intended to share it with anyone. It was my penance--to spend my eternity making something nice out of all the pain I'd caused. I thought to the hiker and to Isabella, my prisoner, and thought of how I would most likely never complete this project.

"Perhaps…" Was all I could say, "When it dries up. It isn't complete…" I stumbled over these excuses, intentionally never giving her a commitment.

I was missing a functional heart but I could feel the pounding in my body and the anxiety rising as I thought of Isabella near something so…important to me. It wasn't an entirely horrible feeling.

She smiled and crossed the room, and I watched with conflict as she stood in front of me, and said, "I'd like that," and then wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug.

"Oh," I mumbled and then held my breath in a quick gasp. I allowed my face to rest on the side of her head, my cheek against her soft hair, just for a second. She was warm. So warm. And accepting. Isabella was so accepting of me.

I stepped back, my hips hitting the edge of the counter and used my hands to push her shoulders back making space between us. Isabella was accepting of what she knew about me. If she knew the truth…I didn't even want to consider the consequences of that.

"Again Edward, thank you for taking such good care of me," she offered, taking another step back and moving to the stove top and grabbing the tea kettle.

I laughed humorlessly, but she must have thought it was real and asked, "What?" with a confused look on her face.

"Nothing," I replied and moved across the room to find the box of tea to hand to her, "It's just…I'm not sure I had any other choice."

* * *

Sooo....

first, last chapter...i am aware that i broke some medical laws by allowing Edward to get the records so easily. I'm okay with this...hopefully you are too.

second, thanks to revrag for the beta she's being oh so patient.

thanks to AG for being there to bounce all these rando ideas off of especially when i change my mind like 1708087 times and just do what i want anyway.

I've now seen NM 3 times. ive got 2 more i the plan (at least) edward gets hotter each time. js

OH and songirl told me i have the smartest women reviewers out there--I agreed. You guys are awesome. Sometimes i hear these comments of "I hate reviews that simply say 'update soon' or 'omg yer so awesome'"...I don't get these often. i get really thoughtful, well spoken, intellegent reviews. thank you for that. I truly appreciate it.

Rec for this week?

Small Town Gossip by LASMKE

and over on twilighted (dot) net please take the time to go check out With Teeth by Talulablue...it is utterly amazing. im in love.


	13. Chapter 13

~*~

Daedalus In Exile

Chapter 13

~*~

I heard the gasp through her walls and mine as her mind leapt from sleep to wakefulness. It was startling but overshadowed by the thundering beats of her heart as it tried to escape from her chest.

Isabella had a dream—and from the sounds of it, a very alarming one.

I waited in my chair for her to appear as she did on the other nights she dreamt. But as the minutes ticked by, like the pulsating beat of the blood that raced through her body, it became clear that on this night, Isabella wasn't coming to me for comfort.

This upset me.

Unable to wait any longer I moved, quickly and quietly to the hallway and paused outside her door. She was awake—I could tell by her movements and her rate of breathing. She was awake, and still upset but remaining alone. I was overwhelmed by wonder and the need to see her.

I raised my hand and tapped gently on her door."Isabella, are you okay?"

From behind the door I heard her muffled movements, the shifting of sheets and blankets ceased and it became utterly silent. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you, Edward." Her voice was stiff and formal. Uninviting. But her heart…it had begun pounding with earnest the minute I spoke her name.

Her heart invited me…lured me…and I was pretty sure it feared me.

I sighed outside her door, as she still remained motionless and clearly she wasn't going to ask me in. "Good night, then," I called and walked back to my room, shutting the door behind me with a solid and definite click.

~*~

"Edward," Isabella called from the upper floor, "I'm going to do some laundry…do you have some?"

All hesitation from our midnight exchange was gone and I was pleased. I chalked it up to dreams and odd late night behavior and pushed past it. Currently, I was trying to be open to the arrangement we had formed of Isabella cooking and cleaning and rummaging though my things. She wanted to keep busy so I allowed her to take over some of the household chores, which honestly had increased since she moved in.

_Moved in._

I shook my head at my own delusional thoughts. "Sure, let me get them," I said, one foot already on the bottom stair.

Isabella popped her head out at the landing."I can do it, Edward. I'm not useless. Just tell me where they are."

She offered me one of those sweet smiles, the kind that made me wonder what she looked like as a child and I was compelled to smile back. "There is a hamper in my closet--let me know if you need help."

She was gone before I finished my statement but I heard a faint, "Okay," come from my bedroom.

I took the opportunity to make a fire, making a tall stack in the fireplace and carefully lit it. Isabella was trying so hard to make me feel comfortable, to make herself useful and I was trying to do the same in return.

Time was passing quickly in the house. It was Sunday and I had to meet up with Carlisle the next afternoon. I hadn't worked out how to explain my absence to Isabella yet and I definitely hadn't accepted the fact she would want to leave—soon. The snow was melting and I still had concerns over her injury and its long term effects.

I listened to Isabella's feet pad down the stairs slowly and I heard the tell-tale creak of the banister as she leaned on it for support--further evidence of her injury or clumsiness? I wasn't sure. But she still complained of headaches and recent blurriness in her vision. All things that sent up a red flag.

"Why is there blood all over this?"

I turned and found Isabella standing in the middle of the room, holding the shirt I'd buried in the back of my closet after I'd attacked the hiker. I stared between her and the shirt, no longer blue but stained dark brown.

"Is it human? Why is there so much?" Her eyes were wide and questioning.

I wanted to run. I wanted to hide my face. I wanted to pace around the room. Instead I took in a normal breath of air and lied, "It's your blood—from when you hurt yourself."

She looked down at the shirt in her hands and I could see her quivering--her arms were shaking from the idea. "It's so much," she said, turning the fabric over in her hands.

I futilely tried to push the violent sound of her rising heartbeat out of my head.

I nodded and took a step closer, wanting to be near her and make her feel better. She looked at me and asked, "Did I almost die?"

From the fall? No. From the lion? Possibly. From me?

"Yes."

The expression on her face was incredulous. She muttered quietly, "I owe you my life."

"No…" I replied, shaking my head a little, "No, you owe me nothing."

She took a step forward, holding the blood stained shit outward, under my nose."You saved me—I knew it before but…but this makes it real for some reason."

Isabella stood before me, holding the shirt outward and I was dizzy—from the blood and from her scent and from the excited noises coming from her chest and lungs. Every step she moved closer her scent wafted over me and coated me and._..the blood_. It was the last thing I'd tasted, and even though it wasn't _her_, it was the only real blood I had tasted in years and it was just too…much.

I stared at Isabella, with her soft hair and smooth skin, and rhythmically pulsating body—and I wanted more. Her brown eyes met mine and I could see myself reflected back. My too sharp jaw was tense and my mis-colored eyes too dark. But what I saw most was not myself but what Isabella was projecting. She wanted something too.

My head was swirling and my mouth was moving without permission, "You've always been too real—always…" the words fell from my lips before I could catch them and my feet—my feet!--began moving, and I closed the gap, pushing her hands to the side, knocking the bloodied shirt to the ground, and she took a quick step back in surprise but I took one more—a larger one—toward her until she was pressed tightly against the wooden slats of the wall and her chest was heaving and her was blood pumping and everything was just…

I pressed my nose to her neck and inhaled. So sweet. Like flowers and contentment and everything I desired. And even though her heart beat like a drum and her skin flushed red as fire, she didn't fight or run or scream.

_No. _

Isabella tragically shifted her weight and tilted her head so her throat was open and visible and _accessible_ to me.

My fingers were wrapped around her wrists and I could feel the pulsating beat on my palms, and her body, _her body_! I groaned. It was small and fragile under mine and so, so warm. I rubbed my cheek over the soft skin, and exhaled, relishing the moment I'd waited for and I wondered fleetingly, why had I been waiting? She was here and I was ready—we were ready.

"This won't hurt," I promised into her flesh, my lips hovering over her skin, knowing the minute they made contact this would be over—_we_ would be over.

I heard a tiny squeak, and her breath catch in her throat and her scent it changed from one of adrenaline to one of…fear? _No, not fear_.

"Do it…" she breathed and I nodded agreeably into her hair.

_Do it…_she'd insisted.

The room stopped. I stopped. Without removing my hands or my body or anything but my face so I could see hers, I noted the eagerness and desperation plastered across hers.

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously and asked, "Do what?"

~*~

It was hours later and I was roaming the streets of Asheville—specifically the street that Isabella lived on when she wasn't held captive in my home. I eyed her dormitory with interest. It wasn't huge…UNC Asheville wasn't a big school by any means, less than four thousand students, but most lived on campus.

I stood away from the building, across the sidewalk from the door, and waited while a student punched in the security code to gain entrance to the dorm. I watched as she shifted her backpack over one shoulder and her fingers pressed a series of numbers into the pad. Then, waiting until the count of thirty, and making sure there was no one around, I crossed the lawn and tapped in the memorized code. The lock released with a click and I entered quickly.

I'd run from the house after the tense moment between Isabella and I. She'd stunned me with her demand, "_Do it_." It was bold and strong and lit up an arousal in me like I'd never felt before. No woman or man I had encountered had ever just offered themselves up. The hiker? He sacrificed himself for others…still odd but not the same. Isabella had offered _herself _to me, willingly and completely…or so I thought.

I'd asked her point- blank what she wanted me to do…because I was more than willing to do it. But, when I looked in her eyes, and saw the deep brown consumed by desire and want, I suspected we had entered into a territory I didn't fully understand.

"Do what?" I'd asked, daring her to let me take what I wanted--daring her to admit it.

I flashed between her eyes and her lips, watching as she flicked her tongue out easily, but the moment passed, the energy lessened and she began stuttering, "K…k…kiss me," and we shared a long, wordless moment, as her thundering heart pounded into my skull.

"What?" I'd asked. _Do what__?!_ I yelled in my brain.

She dropped her head and attempted to squirm out of my hold but I was frozen, my ice cold fingers still wrapped tightly around her wrists. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she apologized over and over.

_Kiss her._

But I wasn't sure this was what she intended to say. That moment, in that moment…I was her predator and she had been my prey and I think she _knew_.

I took her embarrassment and mortification over her own behavior as an opportunity to leave and I ran. I ran farther and faster than I had in years…eventually ending up here. Standing across from her former home, continuing my obsessive behavior and trying, desperately, to figure out Isabella Swan.

Because clearly, I didn't understand her at all.

Once inside the dormitory I found myself in a long hallway, twenty doors to each side, each opening to a room for two girls. I walked evenly, not too fast nor to slow and I tried to glean information from the minds of the other girls in the building.

_Ugh, I forgot my Chem. __n__otes. I wonder if Ava has hers…I wonder why Gavin hasn't called. He's probably drunk and at the frat house…bastard…_

None of their minds were on Isabella, which I supposed wasn't a big deal as she had been gone for awhile, but this meant I was going to have to ask someone for information directly. And although I was an overly attractive creature of the night which should scare women off, college women were definitely an exception. Nothing seemed to scare them off.

I took several steps down the hall and followed the sounds of a television and saw the first door to my right wasn't a dorm room, but instead a lounge or study room of some kind. It was filled with tables and chairs and uncomfortable looking sofas and a television mounted on the wall. There were several girls lounging on the couch mindlessly watching a show, and a couple, wrapped easily in one another's embrace. My eyes lingered on them, intrigued by their rapport.

I spotted a small blonde looking in my direction--her mind immediately assessing me.

_Whoa, he's really, really, really cute…really…even with that pasty skin and that sex-fucked hair…I've never seen him around though, hopefully he's not someone's boyfriend…crap, where's Caroline? Because I'm not handing this one over without __a fight…_

Her mind rambled obsessively, and I offered up a smug smirk because she sounded like the kind of girl that preferred confidence and I didn't have much time to play coy anyway.

Thankfully, she responded favorably and shifted her books on the table over and pushed the chair slightly with her foot, sliding it out from under the table. It was an invitation. Her forwardness startled me a bit—the aggressive tendencies of modern women was something I wasn't sure if I would ever become accustomed to. I plucked her name out of the air—Ava—and tried to act normal.

"Hi," I said, speaking first, not sitting in the chair but resting my hands on the back of it. My voice was calm and confident--the one I used when I was tracking someone—girls—before I stopped. It was nothing like the nervous, squeaky tone I used with Isabella.

"Hi," she greeted, using her fingers to brush aside the short strands of hair near her face.

I cleared my throat, and shifted my hips, before curling my lips upward. "I'm looking for Isabella Swan, can you tell me how to find her?"

Her mind flashed to Isabella's pale, oval face and dark hair and she said, "Bella? She's not here." Her bottom lip puckered out in defeat that she couldn't help me.

I smiled, but not too much, as these women really had no sixth sense sometimes."I need to talk to her--can you tell me where her room is so I can leave her a note?"

The blonde furrowed her brow in thought. "You want to leave her a note?"

I nodded, trying to filter her thoughts…something was off. I assumed it was because Isabella was missing and my arrival would cause suspicion, and sure enough Ava's thought's turned questioning.

_Who is this guy…he's hot, but Bella? She's been gone since last semester…_

My fingers gripped the chair at this. Last semester…it should now only be the middle of the semester and she had only been with me for less than two weeks. I needed more information. "We had a class together last semester and she said she lived here, so I was trying to get in touch."

Ava eyed me for a minute, determining if she should break some form of 'girl code' and tell a strange man a girl's whereabouts. I offered her one last smile and she caved, saying, "Bella moved out at the end of last semester. No one has seen her since."

"What?" I asked, pretending this information was new. I pulled the chair out and sat down across from the girl. "She moved? What happened?"

She leaned back and began wiggling a pen in her fingers."I'm not sure…we weren't close, but I think she was sick or something."

My mind started reeling.

"Sick?"

Her eyes lit up and I realized I'd found a girl who really wanted to talk."Yeah, she was having migraines or something. I don't exactly know. She missed classes a lot and was up a lot at night but then…you could walk in here and find her asleep on the couch at all times of the day. It was weird."

"So you don't know where she went? If she returned home?" I asked, keeping my desperation low.

"Hold on…hey, Megan, come here," Ava called and the other girl, Megan, popped her head over a couch and looked from me to the blonde.

_Hello handsome…._

I fought a cringe at the girl's thoughts and plastered on a smile instead and watched as this other girl walked to our table. Ava looked at me and said, "This is…"

"Edward," I replied quickly.

"He's looking for Bella. Have you heard anything?" Ava eyed me again and said, "Megan was her roommate."

Megan nodded in agreement and said, "No, I haven't heard anything. Not since the day she packed up and left with her friends."

This was all much more interesting that I thought. Friends? I needed to track them down. "Can you tell me who her friends are…I really need to get in touch with her, if possible."

Megan ran a hand through her short, dark hair. "I didn't know them. They weren't students as far as I could tell. Just a girl and a guy, both around our age or maybe even younger. Bella was really sad about leaving but they were both nice about it…I think she was going to live with them or something."

"She was going to live with this couple?" I asked. My skin was tingling with curiosity. Isabella remained more of mystery than I thought.

"I think so, the girl, she was really nice, she kept giving her hugs and encouraging her that she could come back when she was ready…once the medical problems stopped. The guy—he was really cute—he just carried out all her boxes and stuff without complaining. They seemed to really care about her," Megan explained.

I searched her mind for faces and names but she was focused on my fingers and thinking dirty thoughts. With my head down, I shoved them under the table out of her line of sight. Ava sensed I was preparing to leave and didn't want me to yet so she threw out, "Didn't you say he had a funny name Megan? What was it?"

Megan laughed and a face and name popped in her head and I stared at her in shock. "Jasper. His name was Jasper. It made me think of an old man but, well, he carried it just fine."

After an awkward moment of silence, I offered them a weak smile and made my excuses to leave. Ava asked for my number so she could call me if Bella made contact, but I begged off, uninterested and disturbed. I pushed out the dormitory door and into the cold, dark night.

My entire family was in on this it would seem. And not just back in Washington, here as well – and right under my nose. Isabella had been near me for years. If Alice and Isabella had been friends until...recently, then she obviously knew I had her at my house. She knew I had her held captive. Carlisle surely knew as well.

My mind spun with the knowledge. I thought I was controlling this…manipulating this entire situation but instead I had no doubt they knew what was happening all along. What was I in all of this? A player or a pawn? Was this their game or mine?

These thoughts rumbled in my mind as I ducked into the darkness and went to get some questions answered.

~*~

I only wavered once in my destination. It was when I realized that if they knew I was coming to them, someone may take the opportunity to go and remove Isabella from my home. But I knew I couldn't go home right now—I was seething with anger and irritation and even I knew better than to put Isabella in the line of that fire.

I arrived at Carlisle's home several hours later, in the dark of night. They had a cabin of their own, but this one was more modern, specifically built by Esme when they moved here to be in close proximity to my home. I only paused for a moment outside the home. I'd never been here—I'd never wanted to, but even from the outside I could see the familiar paintings and furnishings that adorned our home in Forks. It brought a twinge of pain in my chest, realizing again, that they had been living a _life _without me this entire time.

My self-absorption was truly monumental.

The moment was fleeting and I found myself up the stairs, across the porch and in the middle of their foyer before I could change my mind. They were here…or had been, their scents lingered in the house but I had only one person I was interested in speaking to.

"Where is she?" I announced loudly and abrasively—my arms flailing around the room.

Esme found me first, a brief smile passed over her face before it turned to stone and her mind uttered one single phrase,

_Oh Edward._

I rolled my eyes at her comment and started in her direction. I was furious and I needed answers. Esme was perfect as she could never deny me. A mother's love and all that.

My long strides were cut off by the sound of Carlisle's voice at the top of the stairs and before I could even look up he was between me and Esme. I craned my neck to make eye contact with her and all I got was a weak mental apology and she was gone.

It seemed it was just the two of us.

"Where is she?" I demanded, searching his mind and being assaulted with the Periodic Table. My fingers tugged at my hair and my feet begin moving in circles.

"Alice isn't here, nor Jasper. She saw you coming and left."

His voice was calm and soothing, _professional,_ and it rubbed across my brain like sandpaper. I stopped my pacing and looked at him. "What is this Carlisle—what game are you playing?" I spat.

"Game?" he asked. He was going to _make me tell him_. He wanted a confession. Fuck that. I wouldn't take the blame for their betrayal.

"So this has been going on for what? Five years? Is this why Alice wouldn't see me? To keep her secrets away from me?" It seemed so obvious to me now.

"No," he said, and I groaned heavily at his words. Again he spoke, "No, Edward! Alice wouldn't see you for all those years because you failed her. You denied her peace of mind. You know this."

I laughed darkly, "I appear to know nothing."

Carlisle grew impatient and raised his voice, "I know you're angry but you do know this. You know that every time you picked up the scent of a victim, every time you tracked and hunted and preyed on these innocents she was there—right there in your mind. She felt every movement, every heart beat…and loss thereof. She begged you not to do it and you ignored her."

I wanted to deny it and argue that it was her burden to carry but it would be a lie. But Isabella…this was an entirely different argument.

A deep, unnerving breath escaped my lips and I looked at the ceiling and muttered, "How long have you known." I waited for his response with my fingers clenched in tight balls and a refusal to look in his eye.

"Known what?" he said aloofly—his mind blank and pure.

_Liar_.

I looked over at him in his tan sweater and perfectly coiffed hair. He wanted me to admit it first.

"Don't," I whispered. I couldn't do it. I couldn't do _this_. "How long?"

My father and I stared at one another for a long moment. Golden eye to not-so-golden eye. Savior to sinner. Neither of us would relent. What I didn't understand was why he wasn't relenting. I was the one in the wrong. I had a girl stashed away in my home. I was a kidnapper, a murderer, a villain. I was floundering and weak and teetering on the edge of insanity.

I stood like a statue and waited with apprehension as he walked toward me and stopped inches away. He reached out and placed a heavy hand on my shoulder and I didn't refuse him. When he finally spoke his words were calm and direct. "Throughout our lives, Edward, we are given many tests. Some greater than others, and with our immortality we face them more often than most. I just hope you are truly prepared for what lies ahead."

His words filtered through my brain. I was expecting his judgment. But not this. This was a warning and…permission? I didn't understand it—or why?

"I don't understand? What are you telling me?" I sputtered.

Carlisle shook his head compassionately—always compassionate, and even though he swallowed thickly, and his eyes darted to the side more than once, he said, "Leave. Go home—you have things to take care of."

Confused and shaken, my feet moved on their own out the door and into the first light of dawn.

* * *

sooo...yeah.

thanks to revrag and hol for the beta

sam for being sam

thanks to all my readers of DiE and all the people who read my Creature of Habit outtake this week. I can't thank you there so i will take a sec to do it here.

I have a fic rec...Juggernaut by Frenchbeanz its awesome...give it a shot...and FB-update soon!


	14. Chapter 14

~*~

Daedalus in Exile

Chapter 14

~*~

It was late when I returned to the cabin. I did this on purpose—my intention was for Isabella to be in her room, deep asleep so I could hide away a bit longer.

The forest continued to have that eerie quiet, the snow muffling the normal nocturnal noises that came from living so deep in the wilderness, that even my silent movements felt loud and clumsy against the night.

Part of me feared Isabella (_Bella_ so I learned from my visit to her dorm) had attempted to leave while I was gone. Another part wondered, with more than a touch of bitterness, if Alice had come for a visit and manipulated the situation or worse--took her away. But, as I stole up the porch steps, I strained my ears and could hear the faint _thump, thump_ of her heart as it beat quietly and calmly inside the house. She was still here, and as I silently entered the house, my sense of smell told me no other visitors had crossed into my home while I was gone.

Scanning the kitchen and living room as I passed through, I noticed the rooms were immaculately clean. Every surface had been dusted and polished—the lingering odor of cleaner still present. My eyes passed over the area of the room that held my desk and personal papers and wondered if she had rifled though them during my absence--if she had searched for herself on my computer. I thought back to my strange and infuriating conversation with Carlisle and understood a bit better why no one was out looking for her.

You can't put out a search for someone who isn't really missing.

For the first time I truly felt uneasy in my home. Having Isabella here had been different but I had always had the upper hand—my nature itself allowed me to be in control—even if I lost it. But now, things were different. Motives had changed. Apparently there was a greater _purpose_ for our situation, although I had no idea what it was.

I felt my irritation rise at the awareness of the shift in power. Killing Isabella was no longer really a choice. Carlisle would never leave her in my home for me to take her life and clearly—_clearly_—Alice was watching me and the moment I made that decision they would bust through the door. As much anger as I had for them I also had a sense of relief for the first time in years that I wasn't completely alone.

I sighed, feeling a wave of exhaustion taking over. Not the sleeping kind of course—if only that were an option. No, I couldn't sleep away this problem, I was going to have to face it head on the next time I saw Isabella. I began climbing the stairs toward my room and acknowledged I was completely confused about what I was supposed to do…what test I was supposed to be preparing for. It obviously went beyond the choice of killing or not killing Isabella—I'd already passed that test to an extent. The more I ruminated on the situation the more muddled it became.

At the top of the stairs, I ignored Isabella's door and her obnoxiously loud heartbeat, instead going directly to my room. As I crossed the threshold, I was struck by the over-powering scent of Isabella, she must have been in here while I was gone and in reaction I sucked in my breath, moving with speed to the bathroom where I could shut the door behind me to keep her fragrance at bay. Avoiding Isabella was harder than I expected since it involved her smell and movements and the human sounds that had saturated my home and private spaces.

Sighing with relief in the dark quiet of the room, I quickly removed the clothes I had been wearing for the last day, dropping them with a thud on the ground. I stole a glance at myself in the darkened mirror. My eyes were still discolored, but otherwise I looked the same—always the same. My jaw was too long and sharp, and I had a cleft in my chin and my nose…it was crooked and off kilter. I knew people found beauty in my looks, but it was the spell of the vampire I was sure…these traits of mine were exaggerated and odd--my body too long or too thin or too angular. I ran my finger over my lips--smooth, pink marble, and I wondered if Isabella truly wanted a kiss from my violent mouth. In the moment, it seemed so much more. But, how could it be? Surely she didn't want to die. I dropped my hand and pulled myself from my reflection and my obsessing. I stretched, reaching my arms to the ceiling my eyes locating a pair of clean pants on a hook behind the door and pulling them up my legs before going back in my room.

My plan was to rest…to quiet my brain and push past the pounding of her heartbeat and clear my head. I entered my darkened room and paused—the thudding was so loud so...overwhelming and her breathing—it was almost as if it was in the same room. I glanced at the door and walked over, closing it with a tiny click, attempting to block her out.

But after that click the noises only became louder, bouncing off the walls. A sudden realization sprung to mind and I turned, quickly—sharply—and searched the dark room and located her curled in the chair—_her_ chair—across the room. I took a step forward, and then another, until I was standing in front of _my_ chair and looking down on her. Her hair was a mess—always a mess—and she had her knees tucked under her body and she had turned to the side to get comfortable for sleep. She clutched a book in her hands and even though she was in such an awkward position her face was clear and innocent. She was simple and pure. A victim of not only me and my covetous games but of the manipulations of my family.

I sat, not sure what else to do, and continued to watch her until the first rays of gray morning light filtered through the windows and Isabella shifted, causing her book to slide from her fingers toward the floor. I reached out and caught it easily before it landed and when I looked up she was awake. Her brown eyes were wide and she was focused on my hands and the book dangling from my fingertips.

"You're back," she whispered, moving to a more comfortable, up-right position.

I nodded, unsure of the words that would come out of my mouth if I spoke. I was still angry at my family and Isabella. I wanted to hate her. I wanted to take the anger out on her that I couldn't express to my family. But, I didn't. I didn't understand anything that was going on. Carlisle was less than revealing, yet… what he had told me was stunning. Primarily, when he told me to figure it out on my own and to not mess it up. With one look at Isabella, wrapping a strand of hair nervously around her finger, I realized with a heavy sigh that it was highly likely this would still end up disastrous.

"I was worried," she said, "that you wouldn't come back. But, you told me you would, so I just waited."

I moved back to my seat and said, "I apologize for leaving like that—rushing out. You're right, I did say I wouldn't do that anymore." The words were being said on their own volition. Why was I apologizing?

We stared at one another uncomfortably until she said, "I'm sorry I did that—to you, you know, before you left." She dipped her head and the words were mumbled but I marveled at how her face heated deliciously.

I swallowed back the venom. "Did you mean it? You wanted me to…" I couldn't say the words.

"Kiss me?" Her face became even redder. "I...I just wanted something. It just felt right?" She said this like a question and I didn't know how to tell her that in all my years kissing wasn't much of an interest of mine. I had better things to do. And at that moment in particular, when I'd been so close to her warm neck—kissing had been far from my mind.

But I found myself nodding in agreement, what else could I do? I searched my memories for something to say that would be flattering yet appropriate. "Isabella, I find you very attractive, but…I don't think that would be a good idea."

I smiled and thought I would get one in return but instead she looked…annoyed? Lines marred her forehead and her lips were twisted unhappily. Maybe I hurt her feelings? I felt a swell of frustration and cursed the fact I couldn't read her mind like everyone else.

Though I noticed her eyes were not on my face. "Well, if you don't think it's a good idea you should possibly make sure you wear a shirt around the house," she said standing up and gathering her book to leave, "It may give a girl the wrong idea."

~*~

"Why is it no one comes to visit you out here?" she asked that night while we are sitting near the fire. Bella sitting in front of a pile of laundry, using her fingers to smooth and fold each piece with precision.

She'd been asking me questions all day—one after the other about my family, my schooling, why my hair stuck up on end. It was annoying yet amusing at the same time. Isabella was acting a bit different since I came home and I was enjoying her new spunk.

"I told you. They don't like me," I answered easily, finding the casual way I spoke of them interesting. I should have felt a stab of pain from their betrayal, but instead I found that watching Isabella match socks took away some of the ache.

"No," she said, tilting her head, "You said they don't approve of your choices."

"If you already knew then why did you ask me again?" I said this in a mocking tone, or so I thought, but a frown grazed her lips. A thought flashed in my mind. "Isabella? Are you having memory problems?"

"What?" she asked, her brow furrowed, "No, I remembered. I was just testing you to see if you remembered."

At the word test my eyes locked on hers—trying to discern the meaning behind her comment. But her eyes were innocent, dark brown and soul filled. "I have a request for you then—as I've answered all your questions without argument—even the one about why do I only wear white boxer shorts instead of colored--tell me about your dream two nights ago."

Isabella lowered her eyes and began piling the folded clothes into the basket next to the couch. "I've told you everything I remember," she said evasively—her eyes anywhere but on mine.

"No," I said, "You haven't. You dreamed something. And it bothered you enough you didn't come to me for comfort and I want to know what it was."

I was attempting not to sound stern, but the lightness of the afternoon was gone and as the sky darkened and the fire crackled and sparked nearby, I needed to know what was going on in her head.

Isabella leaned back on her hands with her knees propped up in front of her. Her teeth sunk into the soft, pink skin of her bottom lip and she tugged at it, thinking over my statement.

"Okay," she said but didn't continue speaking. "Okay it was vague, and it just…it didn't make sense…not completely and well, at first it just freaked me out a little—which is why I didn't come to your room."

I was on the floor as well, the basket serving as a barrier between us, and I leaned onto my knees to get closer. "What disturbed you so?"

She snorted and rolled her eyes, muttering 'disturbed' under her breath. "What _disturbed _me was the fact I had a memory of that day in the woods. Before the lion attack."

I swear that in that moment it was like the air had been sucked from the universe. I felt a rush of emotion. Embarrassment, anger, terror, fear…I felt it all. No wonder she didn't want my comfort—she _knew_. She knew what I had done and I was caught.

I must have been able to keep my mask on at that moment because she glanced at me nervously but smiled, before returning her attention to the thread she was pulling off the hem of her pants.

The room was silent as I waited for her to speak.

"I remember being on the trail and pulling out my map. I remember looking for a marker—not a real marker set up by the Parks Department, but one I'd been told to find-"

"By who?" I blurted, feeling a coil of horror in the pit of my dormant stomach.

"I don't know—the memory doesn't go back further than that," she said, the frustration evident in her voice. "But I knew in my dream that I went off the trail on purpose. I got _lost,_ Edward, _on purpose_. Why would I do that?"

I shook my head, because I had no idea. None.

"Obviously I did get lost, I roamed around for what felt like hours. It was getting colder and darker, but not once—not one time did I consider turning back or going for help." She was crying now, fat tears falling down her face.

I wanted to taste them.

"Then it was snowing, and I was so cold, and I sensed something or someone and—I woke up."

I stared at my hands while she wiped her nose and her face with her sleeve. The rushing had left my ears as it seemed she didn't remember me and I wanted to smack myself for being so selfish in her time of distress, but really the relief I felt that I hadn't been exposed was enormous.

I ran a hand through my hair, tugging it slightly out of stress. "It's a memory though, right? Progress?" I knew I sounded like a moron. I had no idea how to comfort a girl like this. "Please don't cry…" I begged weakly. Those odd, wet tears brought out strange feelings I didn't know how to address.

To my astonishment she rose to her knees and pushed the basket away, faster than I could respond, and she had moved to my lap--my cold, granite lap--and had her head rested on my chest. I'd held my breath in shock, as her hair was pushed into my chin and her arms wrapped around my waist. It was foreign and strange and made my head dizzy and my mouth 'water' and God I wanted to eat her.

But I didn't. Instead, I listened as she whispered, "I have no idea who I am. Because I did this to myself on purpose—was I trying to kill myself?" She asked these questions over and over into the night, wondering aloud what kind of person would do such a thing. I tried to ignore the way she warmed my legs and the way her fingers pulled on the cotton of my shirt. My mind spun at her memories and her musings and I, too, wondered what would have brought Isabella from that college dorm room, to leaving school, to throwing herself at the mercy of the forest.

Alice wouldn't be so cruel.

Carlisle could never torture someone like this intentionally.

I considered the challenge presented to me by my father and tried to connect the dots, but it was hard to focus with the venom flowing down my throat and the warm limbs wrapped around my body.

~*~

The sun was reflecting a blinding light off of the remaining snow outside the cabin. I was downstairs, reading further on brain injuries and their side effects and possible long-term consequences. Everything I read was vague and unless I took her to a doctor—a specialist even—we would never really know what was going on inside her head.

Isabella was moving around upstairs. She'd been down already eating breakfast, offering me useless cups of tea, an odd spring to her step. She'd commented on the weather more than once, looking out the wide window over the sink, so I suspected it was the sunlight and the brightness that had lifted her spirits. She darted up the stairs to shower and change and I took that opportunity to study a bit more on her possible condition.

It was just as I was closing my medical book and sliding it back in its proper place that I heard the unusual sound of heavy boots on the wooden stairs. I was compelled to stand up and look—moving away from my desk and into the middle of the living room. Isabella descended the stairwell quickly, one hand gripping the railing and the other clutching her purple gloves. She smiled when she saw me.

I forced a smile in return. "Going somewhere?" Fear crept over every inch of my body and in response I shoved my hands into my pockets to keep them from restraining her.

_She can't leave._

She laughed, unaware of my internal struggle and she replied, "Just outside. I'm going a little bat-shit in the house. I need some fresh air, you know?"

_No. I didn't._ I inhaled dramatically and was accosted forcefully by her scent. _Fine. Some fresh air could do us both good._

I glanced over my shoulder to the large plate glass window that looked over the porch and saw the beams of light passing through and frowned at my misfortune. "Can we go later? I don't want you to get lost out there on your own. I'd prefer to go out with you." There was no way I was letting her out of my sight to roam around the grounds. There were animals and tree roots and my workshop and my garden—she needed an escort.

She gave me a funny side look but walked around me over to the coat rack by the kitchen door. "I need to get outside Edward. Now. In the sunlight." She ran her fingers over her face and across the purplish spots under her eyes. "I'm so pale. It can't be normal."

I thought back to that day in Forks. She'd been unreasonably pale then—it intrigued us all that a girl from such a warm, sunny place could have the skin of a ghost. I hadn't responded, I just followed her across the room, with my hands shoved in my pockets trying to remain calm and appropriate.

_No_. I wanted to say. _No, you can't go alone, without me, out of my sight._ But, I'd come to realize I couldn't say these words to her.

"Do you mind if I borrow one of your coats? You said you had to throw mine out, right?" she asked, her fingers already touching the fabric of my heavy black coat.

I crossed the room and stood before her, avoiding eye contact as I pulled it off of the hook and opened it, offering to help her put it on. She turned her back to me giving me a glimpse of her long, thin neck and the soft hairs that were growing in around her wound. I kept my hands to myself, making great effort not to touch her, but as she shrugged into the way too large jacket she laughed and turned around.

"I didn't realize you were so big," she said, tugging at the sleeves, trying to make her hands poke out the bottom.

I wasn't sure if she was lying or making silly small talk because in reality I towered over Isabella. I was over six feet tall and she was barely over five. "Give me your arm," I directed.

She offered her right one to me and I took the gloves out of her hand and pushed them between my arm and my side, holding them as I began rolling up the sleeve until her hands were visible. My fingers caught hers, brushing against their warmth and I lowered her hand to her side before working on the other sleeve the same way. I acted as if I didn't hear her breathing increase or the rise of her heart-beat low in her chest. I imagined her eyes were not on my hands at this moment—watching me as I attended to her needs.

I knew what she was thinking and feeling. I could taste the shift in the air. It was like the last time—when I ran to Asheville. She wanted something from me—something I couldn't give. There were so many things I couldn't give. I could only take.

Isabella definitely needed to go outside. Alone.

I held her gloves out and helped her put them on, one by one, and then tugged the bottom of the zipper up as far as it could go without swallowing her. I took a step back and ran both hands through my hair. "Just be careful, and I'd prefer you not go to the workshop—it's a mess and I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

She nodded easily at my request.

"Are you sure you can't go? I don't mind being alone but…" she asked nicely and I wanted to cave and go with her. But I couldn't—there were barriers I couldn't break. I stifled my hands from running over my hair and face again in frustration.

"I really have some work I need to do," I explained lamely but offered a teasing grin, "Plus you're wearing my coat? I'd freeze to death."

Surprisingly she reached for my hand with her fingers and rubbed it gently. "True, although, you're already as cold as you could get." She paused and looked up. "Do you mind if I explore your garden?"

_Yes. It's private and revealing and stands as a confessional for the world to judge but I'm not ready for anyone to see it…_

I swallowed and retraced my hand. "No, you can go in the garden if you wish. Just stay on the path, you can't see everything in the snow and I wouldn't want you to step on anything sharp or breakable."

Isabella stepped away from me and turned to the door. I wanted her to stay inside. I didn't want her to leave. I was afraid and worried and concerned and _God__, what if she wanted me to take her away from here—return her to civilization? What would I do then? _

~*~

I paced like a caged animal waiting for her return. My shoes pounded the hardwood floors repetitively, announcing my frustration. She couldn't go far…I knew this logically, but I seemed to lose most sense of reason when it came to Isabella. I pressed a hand to the window feeling the cold air butting against the glass. It was cold. She shouldn't stay out long. It was wet and muddy, which meant she could slip and fall or get sick from the chill. Ridiculous scenarios ran though my mind.

I groaned loudly, taking the opportunity of being alone to make a noise and vent. I wanted to go out there and bring her back in—keep her away from the light and the demons I chose to exhibit around my property. Leaning into the glass, I blew air on the surface and smirked at the lack of condensation. No heat. I was made of ice and stone and that crazy girl didn't seem to notice. I mused that while I was trapped inside, away from the revealing sun—Isabella was in my garden, seeing my…everything. All I had lay bare.

I paced, fifteen steps across the room, six to the right and another sixteen back. I did this over and over fearing that she could disobey me and go in the workshop—which I foolishly left unlocked. It'd never been an issue before. No one came out here and if they did no one would dare steal from a vampire. But on the other end, I'd never stashed away personal, private, and trust-breaking items in my workshop either. I sighed and walked over to the window, pushing back the curtain again, looking for Isabella.

From this vantage though I couldn't see the garden and I knew that was where she was. If I were human and curious I would be there too. Of course, once she figured out the meanings behind my symbols and statues and fixtures she would want to leave immediately and maybe…maybe it was time. I wondered if I should do it now, just break ties—before this went any further.

The idea spun in my mind and I walked away from the window, pacing the floors again, deep in thought. Maybe this was my test Carlisle had spoken of. The test was to give her up. To sacrifice the thing I coveted the most. Maybe this would be my ultimate penance and I would be…free?

I now walked in a circle around the couch--the carpet muffling my steps. It was almost too easy—yet I knew from the churning in my stomach and the unease in my brain this was far from the truth. But the idea excited me as well as horrified. I wanted the guilt to go away. And Alice and the others? They would return to me or allow me to return to them if I did so. I couldn't deny the pull of seeing Esme yesterday. I was harsh and angry, but I did miss her. Was it really this simple to gain it all back? Would releasing Isabella absolve me of my sins?

I was so involved with my thoughts that I almost missed the footsteps on the porch until the door swung open and a wet and rosy-cheeked Isabella burst into the room.

_She returned. _I sighed a decidedly human breath of air.

"Hey," she greeted as she moved quickly into the room and began peeling off layers of clothing—first she pulled off her gloves—dropping them onto the table in the kitchen and then unzipping my coat and hanging it on the coat rack. She loudly pulled out a chair from the table and dropped into the seat, unlacing her wet boots before leaving them by the door. "It's freezing outside!"

I watched with amazement. She looked so alive—the fresh air and sunlight brightening her whole demeanor. Her chest pounded from exertion and her breath came out heavy and moist. My eyes roamed from her face to her body and the t-shirt she'd worn under her winter clothing was tight across her body, revealing curves I pretended not to notice. While she shed the protective gear, billows of her scent traveled across the room as strips of her skin appeared. I inhaled deeply trying to trace her steps away from me by her scent.

"Come here," I offered and gestured to the seat closest to the fireplace, while I crouched before it to add another log. She came as directed, shuffling her socked feet and tugging at the hem of her shirt that rose as she walked. I stood and walked over, grabbing the quilt that was lying across the back of the couch. With a smile I carried it over, although I stopped short of actually laying it over her legs and let her do that herself.

The lines were getting blurry in our relationship. I wasn't sure if she was my prey or my next meal or my captive or my friend. And then from her…I got the feeling she wanted something else.

I moved to the couch, my back setting into the soft cushions—this time our positions reversed. The fire popped and sparked, filling the room with tiny bits of noise as we sat awkwardly together. I was waiting for her to tell me what she found—how she interpreted my confessions.

"So…" she said, the word dragging a bit at the end.

I tilted my head and raised an eyebrow. There was no way I was speaking first.

"You have a really beautiful piece of property. I feel lucky to have seen it as a winter wonderland! It makes everything so clean and pure."

I forced back a snort at her entire statement. If she only knew. I was tainted and everything I touched was affected. I was afraid this could include her.

"Then there's the garden…" She began, when I still didn't comment she continued again, "It's very…beautiful and interesting. Unique."

"Interesting." I repeated. _Unique._

"Yeah, a lot of it was covered by snow but the craftsmanship…" she paused and pulled the quilt up to her shivering shoulders, "It's really good Edward. From what I can see you are very gifted."

"Thank you," was all I could say in response. There was an elephant in the room and I was happy to ignore it if she was.

"I loved all the glass—the way you embedded it in the walls and sidewalks—it's everywhere. It makes the entire place glimmer. And it has lights? Do they work?" she asked. I watched as her fingers traced the stitching between squares on the quilt.

I nodded. "They do."

Isabella pulled her lips into her mouth, they were chapped again from being outside for only a little while, and I watched as she chewed on the bottom one. I wondered, for a tiny moment, what that plump piece of flesh would feel like next to mine. She shifted on the couch and my eyes jumped from her mouth to her eyes and she said, "Do you think you can show me it at night sometime? All lit up?"

"Sure," I responded, trying to conjure the image of me and Isabella wandering the maze of stone and glass together. It didn't quite materialize.

Again the fire crackled and hissed when a log fell between the slats of the grate and tumbled to the brick floor of the fireplace. Isabella's eyes darted to the flames, but I kept mine on her. I was almost bursting at this point in curiosity, but maybe she didn't notice or overlooked it? Maybe it wasn't as obvious as I thought…maybe-

"Will you tell me about the markers?" she asked.

--Maybe not.

"There are twenty-seven. I counted," she said, when I didn't respond. The flames played shadows across her smooth skin.

"There are." I agreed, licking my lips and shifting my feet. I was surprised she had counted. "Twenty-seven." _So far, _I wanted to say. It wasn't complete.

"What are they for?" she glanced at me. I thought she would look afraid—she _should_ be afraid. Instead there was only curiosity.

"It's my…" I fumbled for appropriate wording. One that was truthful but…not. "It's my attempt at making amends."

There were stone markers in the garden, lining the paths at different intervals. They each carried a date and a symbol. Something that reminded me of that moment—many only reminded me of hunger or desire. I forced my eyes away from Isabella as I thought about having her here, in front of me. She was the beginning and end of those markers—I knew this now.

"Who did you hurt?" she asked quietly, "Who are you seeking forgiveness from?"

I swallowed. "My family, those I've wronged, myself… " _You,_ I wanted to add. "It's a long list. I'm not finished."

Part of me wanted to tell her the truth—to show her the demon I was. I could take her outside and stand over the marker of the cashier and tell her the story of her death and how it didn't make me feel bad at the time it only made me want more. I could do this but I wouldn't. And even though I'd shown her so much and she was still happily sitting across from me with no fear or trepidation at all. I had this need to reveal myself to Isabella, it was almost as if I was trying to force a situation where a decision would be made for me.

She nodded at my admission. Her heartbeat was even and her breathing normal. She wasn't afraid. She calmly sat in the chair, bundled under my couch, mere feet away from a human-killing vampire as though everything were normal.

She ran a hand through her hair and waited for me to speak, but I couldn't – I was at a total loss. I thought back to my test. The test I was apparently taking without my permission, and wondered again if I knew the answer and was just too stubborn to make the decision I'd instinctively been leaning toward all along.

In only a moment, I knew what I needed to do. I wasn't a fool but I'd been acting foolish.

I leaned forward on my legs, propping my elbows on my knees and said the words I never thought I would utter, "While you were out I checked the weather and thought about it. I think if it stays clear for another day or so I can get you out of here." My words were starling to both Isabella and myself, but in the instant they hit the air, I knew it was what I had to do.

I stood, stretching for her benefit and went to the fireplace and began shoving the iron poker into the flames, jarring the flaming wood, causing the hiss and shower of sparks.

"What?" she asked. Her voice conveyed the surprise she was feeling.

With a glance over my shoulder at my treasure and prize, the one I'd stumbled upon by accident twice in my life, I forced a kind expression on my face and said, "I think it's time for you to return to civilization."

* * *

I know lots of you are confused. It's okay Edward is confused too. When he figures it all out he will explain it to you I promise.

Thanks to Revrag & Hol for beta work.

And AG for being awesome. She has a new short fic called Company Loves Misery. I know you are already reading this but meh. had to say it.

Rec for the week is Burn and Shine by Pulsepoint. I'm gonna talk about this fic for a minute. It took me a couple chapters to get into this. I am HORRIBLY impaitient getting into new stories. This is one of the ones that proved my initial reaction wrong. AG pushed me to keep reading and thank-goodness. it is truly wonderful.

I hope you all have a great holiday. I'm unsure of my updating schedule for the next two weeks as I have to work more than usual and my kids are home and blah blah blah. Don't worry I won't forget you and I will update as soon as i can. Maybe even next week!


	15. Chapter 15

Daedalus in Exile

Chapter 15

~*~

It was late and I was stretched out on the bed in my room. I found this position odd. My head was resting on a pillow, propped a bit and my legs and arms were flat. It was a sleeping pose—a human pose. Neither of these I did or were. But I could pretend. I laid on the bed, my back long and extended, my arms wide, and fingers trailing over the edges of the mattress.

_One more day_…I thought, as I shuffled to the next song on my iPod with my eyes closed. I only had to pretend to be human—in my home—for one more day. Isabella was leaving tomorrow. Away from here and my damning ways. My goal was to get her to a doctor—a hospital—and have her admitted while telling the truth as much as possible—that I'd stumbled upon her in the forest and that we had to wait the weather out, and the minute it was possible I brought her to safety.

No one would know the difference—it was all _basically_ true.

After I left her, I would call Carlisle and inform him of her location. He and Alice could figure out what they wanted to do next. It would no longer be my…_problem_.

I pushed my nose into the pillow and inhaled the tiny wafts that caused the intense burn to lick up my throat. This was the reason I was lying here. Isabella came in last week and attempted to strip the sheets off my bed. I was mere feet behind her, trying to distract her but she noted the cleanliness and smooth lines of never-slept-upon sheets. I lied and covered my tracks, pulling them off before she could comment more. The pleasure came though, when she put the sheets back on, and I watched as she tugged and pulled them across the bed, smoothing her hands over the wide expanse of fabric. She slipped cases over the never used pillows and I fought the urge to smile as I thought of the oils and skin and _Isabella_ she left behind with each touch.

I thought of the last time I'd been in this position, in a bed. I hadn't been on my back though—although she had. _She_, was a lovely brown haired girl I'd seen from afar…walking from the post office one rainy spring afternoon. I wasn't particularly looking—I never was, but the image of her walking in a slick black raincoat, high rubber boots, and wild dark hair sticking to her face--it struck a cord—a memory of being in Forks and what _she _had looked like in the minds of the students as they saw her for the first time. Immediately I began tracking her…cursing the rain for dampening her scent. I even wondered, before I saw her face, if it could possibly be her, appearing in front of me like a vision. But she turned her head before she crossed the street and I saw that her skin was olive toned, and her nose too sharp, which quickly washed away that hope.

But even though I knew this, my feet didn't cease and my mouth began to water at the thought of _her_ so I followed as she walked through the busy streets and climbed the stone steps to her home. I continued walking, glancing easily up to the door, then to the windows, and catching her shadow as it passed by the clear glass.

I decided I would come back later—after dark.

After dusk, I'd waited in her room, sitting calmly on her bed just waiting for her to turn off the TV and come in for the night. I was playing games—evil, evil games—it wasn't enough to simply kill her—I had to frighten the life out of her first.

"Hi," I said with a smile as she entered the room and saw me.

"Fuck!" she screamed, one hand rushing to her heart and the other pushing the door back as she began to flee.

I caught up to her in the kitchen, feet from her door. Leaning my arm onto the wall I said, "You can run, but really? It only makes it more interesting for me."

She was smart though and didn't listen to the ramblings of a sociopath and took back off for her room. I let her go even as I followed and paused outside her door. Her heart was hammering and I could hear her movements…she was pushing furniture in front of the door. Loud crashes came from inside when she frantically moved the dresser—the knickknacks and jewelry and bottles and frames tumbling to the floor. With every movement her breathing became more labored and I heard her talking—calling on the phone. The police.

I almost felt sorry for her.

Almost.

She cursed under her shaky breath and in her mind she was focused on the burglar bars that encased her window. Keeping her _in_. She knew if I got in it would be over. She feared for her body—of me raping her which was unfortunate. It should have been the least of her fears but I was sympathetic to her fears. Men were vile creatures. But, lucky--or not--for her, I wasn't a man.

When the noises calmed from inside I reached for the hard metal door knob and pulled, wrenching the entire thing from its frame and dropping it behind me on the hallway floor with a clatter. From my position in the doorway I could see her terror filled face as she realized this was not what she expected.

Climbing over the dresser, I stood before her as she perched on the edge of the bed, she was trembling—shaking and with each tremor my mouth filled and my tongue ran across the sharp edges of my teeth and I _wanted_.

Catching her eye and holding it I promised, "I won't make it hurt," before I took two steps forward and pushed her back against the bed. The eye contact made her dizzy and pliable, my voice falsely calmed her nerves and I leaned in and ran my nose across her neck, smelling lavender and fear. Even though the scent wasn't right I took one hand and tugged the hair tie from the back of her head allowing the mahogany tendrils to flutter down her back, in a lame attempt to recreate a moment lost.

"Stop," she whispered weakly, because it was futile to fight—how do you fight a demon, made of muscle and stone and eternal life—but I only pushed her deeper into the mattress.

With one last sniff and a quick lick to moisten the skin, I whispered, "If only this were enough," and sunk my teeth into inferiority.

I ran my fingers over my forehead, pushing the thoughts out of my head. Having memories like this was dangerous. _Very dangerous_. It was why I resigned myself to sending Isabella back to the 'real' world. Away from me and the threat I posed.

Once again I buried my nose in the fabric on my bed, and almost curling into the pillow itself. God, she smelled like heaven. I knew that in a dozen lifetimes her scent would always be the strongest. It burned and ebbed but it no longer brought about only hunger, but also a sense of protection and ownership. The scent and the woman it belonged to were mine and mine alone—and for the sanity of all of us, I would have to let it go and let her become one of the memories I dwelt upon late at night.

The miniscule creak of my door caused my eyes to open and I saw Isabella walking in my direction. I quickly propped on my elbows, simultaneously cursing myself for becoming distracted and vulnerable in this position while congratulating myself for appearing to be asleep like I should be at this time of night.

"Isabella?" I asked, pulling the ear buds out one by one.

She crawled on the end of the bed, climbing over my feet and settling in.

Huh.

Taking a deep breath and blowing it out, coating my room with her air, she blurted, "Look, I'm worried and afraid. I'm scared to go—where am I going to go? I know you said the hospital but after that? I don't know anyone or where to go—or where I live?"

Her pale hands were twisting in her lap, and she wouldn't make eye contact, only stealing glances at me under her thick eyelashes.

"Bella, you can't stay here," I said for lack of anything else to say. My words were quiet and I felt guilty when she looked up at me questioningly. "You need a doctor—a specialist—and it's just not…healthy for you to be here."

She was looking at me directly now and her hands had stopped their nervous movement. "Did you just call me Bella?"

Fuck.

"Umm…" I stalled.

"Why did you call me Bella?"

"It's the shortened name for Isabella. I was just being familiar." _Familiar_, I wanted to snort. Lamest excuse yet.

She eyed me suspiciously, "Did you know, in all of my dreams people call me Bella. I hear whispers of this name. Always—no one calls me Isabella." She poked her finger into my knee, "You are the only one who calls me this…but now, now you call me Bella. Why?"

I had no answer—no legitimate one—so I didn't respond.

She shifted closer to me on the bed, moving toward the headboard. I moved backwards with her, pressing my back against the wood.

In a low whisper she begged, "Don't make me go."

I swallowed and tasted venom mixed with her scent and had a flash of memory of being on that bed, killing that girl. I thought about how afraid she had been—how cruel I was. I thought of Isabella and her cowering under me in fear and what that would be like. The idea was disturbing.

She leaned in closer and my back pressed harder against the wood, looking for an escape, any escape. She was too close. Too close for me to think straight.

"Don't make me go," she said again, and the room became hazy and oddly warm, and even though I didn't breathe my lungs were demanding air and before I could react she was upon me.

Isabella was on me.

She straddled over my hips, her body falling onto mine with ease. This was all so easy for her but so terribly, terribly difficult for me. Wrapping my fingers around her thin arms, I began to remove her, "Isabella, I need you to—"

"Don't—let me do this. I need to do this…" Her hair trembled over her shoulders and her fingers found my face, my jaw and I almost shuddered at the way they ran across my skin slowly. So slowly. I tried to shake my head or say no, but I was mesmerized by the way her heart thrummed and the way her weight shifted heavily on my pelvis.

Then she kissed me.

Once, quickly and sloppily, her willing mouth pressed against my unwilling.

"Stop," I protested weakly because my tongue had already darted out and was licking up the lingering remains of her saliva.

"No," she declared and dove forward—her mouth covered mine, and her lips, cracked and dry were still softer than anything I'd ever encountered. They were hot—boiling next to my tepid ones and the heat and moisture and the smell and the _taste! _Isabella tasted like Isabella…the taste I had lusted after for these years.

I freed myself again, just barely, and demanded, "Stop—this is impossible," but my lips continued moving with hers and the pressure of her weight continued to twist in my lap and my hunger shifted perceptibly for the first time in my vampiric life.

"Nuunnf," was her only reply because her face was smashed into mine and her hands were gripping the fabric of my shirt, near my throat, and as she tugged I allowed myself to move toward her.

She tasted delicious and felt delicious and I _wanted…_I just wanted…

My hands were still on her arms and I struggled against her gently, not wanting to bruise or injure her, and with reluctance she stopped—wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

Isabella slid backwards, slowly, off my body and onto the mattress—twisting her body until her legs were over the edge and she was hunched with her face in her hands. The only part of her face I could see was the red tinged tips of her ears. I also slid off the bed and stood as far away from her as possible, shifting and adjusting my clothing as I moved.

She turned her head so I could see her profile and she apologized, "I'm so sorry, Edward. You must think I'm just a whore. I don't know who I am or what I'm doing…" she ran her hands through her hair, ghosting it over the fresh wound in the back and then the older scar on the front. "Maybe I _am_ a whore, I don't know—because really, what do I know—but for some reason I need to touch you. And I need you to touch me. It helps me feel real."

Her pain was so deep, I could feel it in each shuddering breath and I felt horrible because I could fix this and instead I just continued to protect myself over and over again. I found my voice and said, "You're not a whore, Isabella." The words felt dirty on my lips, saying such a callous thing about such a beautiful girl. I reached behind me, anchoring myself to the wall, afraid I would propel myself in her direction if I wasn't held back. "And I don't feel badly about you and…as odd as it may sound, touching you makes me feel real also."

She twisted slightly on the bed, looking at me head-on, and I wanted to flee. Because what I said was true, touching Isabella—that way—made me feel real and possibly alive—in ways I'd never anticipated or experienced before.

We remained like this for some time—Isabella, heated and red, sitting on my mattress while I clung to the wall, stealing glances whenever she wasn't aware. Several uncertainties hung in the air, and I wasn't sure what to address first. The kisses or her proximity, or the feeling of her weight on my body, or the simple request she came to me with in the beginning—letting her stay.

"You still need to go…" I started, but the words were limp and hollow—my resolve was wavering. "You need to see a doctor."

I thought this statement may make her cry again or sad but her reaction was unexpected. Isabella stood and said though clenched teeth, "I can't. I can't walk into that hospital and find out the worst. What if they tell me I'm dying or I'm sick…what do I do then, Edward? I see the way you look at me. I know my dizziness isn't right or appropriate. But this is the only familiar place I have, otherwise I have no. Where. To. Go." She punctuated the words with her hands.

She was right of course…but also wrong. She did have somewhere to go. I could lead her back to her father or my family, or to her college dormitory. This was all so twisted and skewed. Regardless, if I sent her away or let her stay I was manipulating and controlling her life. The only way out of this was to tell her the truth and all it took was one look at her skin and her hair and her dark brown eyes to know I couldn't do it.

I couldn't lose her.

And for some god-forsaken reason she trusted me. I didn't know if it was some perverted form of Stockholm-Syndrome or a crush or just the makings of a friendship (as I'd never had one) but Isabella trusted me. And cared for me. And she wanted my skin to touch her skin.

At the thought I felt a rush of energy through my body and realized I really wanted that too.

My fingers pinched the bridge of my nose in defeat and I sighed into darkened room, "You can stay—for now. Until I figure some things out."

"No doctors?" she asked, her eyes narrowed and determined.

I shook my head, "No. Not now." And I knew this was wrong—it was _really_ wrong.

She slid off the edge of the bed, her feet thumping lightly to the ground, and she walked across the hardwoods toward me. I feared her approach, she was aggressive and forceful and physically she dominated me—and even though I could resist her with my strength, it was clear I couldn't resist her completely.

She wrapped her arms around her waist. "That other stuff, on the bed…are we okay?"

I ran my tongue over my bottom lip and tasted her.

_No_.

_No, were not_, I wanted to say, _because I'm a vampire and kissing human girls is a no-no and there's a line between kissing and licking and biting and drinking and killing and I'm not sure if I know the difference. And even in my limited experience I'm pretty sure kissing is for potential lovers and vampires and humans don't qualify for this relationship especially when the human has no idea what's going on._

"Yeah, we're okay."

"Good," she said, and closed the distance and gave me a quick hug and even faster kiss on the tip of my jaw and left, closing the door behind her.

The minute the door latched I fell into the wall that had been supporting my weight during our entire conversation and exhaled—loudly.

* * *

A little bit of scary and a little bit of sigh...

I know its a little short but it's a lot to take in...

Note: Bella and Edward's physical relationship in this fic will work around my plot idea. It may seem to fast or not plausible at times. If you want slow and dragged out step by step i suggest you read Creature of Habit. I'm trying for something different here and i can't go down the same path again.

Thanks to HOL, Revrag and AG

Happy Holidays...and i dont have a good fic rec right now...(other than Girl Afraid by agoraphobantic which I recced on Sunday on the Lazy Yet Discerning Ficster Blog) let me know if you have something good to read.


	16. Chapter 16

Daedalus in Exile

Chapter 16

~*~

"Take a walk with me," she asked, tugging at my fingers.

It was an intimate gesture--so small.

"Show me your garden—I want to experience it through your eyes," she continued, the warm tips of her fingers pressing into mine.

"Not now," I replied as though I planned on it later. But now was a definite impossibility due to the glaring sunlight. "Go without me—get some fresh air."

Reluctantly moving my hands from hers, I helped her into my black coat once again and assisted her with her sleeves. Even though we were no longer touching—I could still feel the warmth from her skin on mine.

This concept—the idea that Isabella's touch and proximity could make me feel awake or alive--was so different from my normal existence. The hunger had abated a fraction and I had begun to crave her in ways that were so unexpected. I suddenly realized if I took her life, this feeling would also go with it.

While stretching her gloves over her hands, she turned away,but I could see her bottom lip as it stuck out provocatively. It was merely a pout—at least I thought it was. Whatever her intention, it was decidedly distracting.

"Fine," she said, "later though," and I agreed with a nod as she slipped out the back door.

As if to prove a point, the day had arrived warm and sunny, beginning the thawing of the forest. The trees came to life with the sunlight—as all living things should and do—creaking with the dripping weight of melting snow. Birds chatted and squirrels scurried in and around the woods. The creatures of the forest were coming back from hibernation. Ironically, Isabella and I were doing just the opposite…hunkering down for the long haul. We should have been on our way out of the woods—taking the trip to town, to the hospital, to mutual safety.

Due to the bright and shining daylight, I was trapped in the house for the day, which was proving awkward and uncomfortable. If I could have avoided Isabella I would have, but the cabin was small and our options limited, so when she came down the stairs dressed for the outdoors I almost felt a wave of relief. As much as I longed for her to be near, I also knew I needed space. Things were strange. And confusing. The more I thought about her kissing me, sitting on me and touching me the less sense it made. But even more, I realized I didn't mind it.

I stood and walked to the window and watched her tramp out into the snow covered yard. Isabella looked childlike in my too large coat and the blue scarf she'd wrapped tight under her chin. She was flushed, and her eyes squinted when she looked into the sun. Her feet awkwardly stumbled over snow-hidden imperfections in the ground.

She did each of these things because she was human. Her humanity made her look young, and flushed and squinty and awkward. It made her fragile and vulnerable. And this is what made her kisses wrong—even more so than the other complications of our "relationship."

I was a vampire. I was dead. Lifeless. Souless. Damned. My body was hard to the touch and cold and unyielding—yet she molded to me like clay. But she wasn't afraid—in fact she seemed drawn to me like a moth to a flame and it was very…peculiar. I offered her little or no explanations for my differences—my lack of eating, or the long jaunts I took to the woods—it was almost as though I was daring her to ask.

But she never did. She just accepted and carried on.

Peering out the window I watched as Isabella made a beeline toward the garden just as I suspected. I walked away from my post leaving her to try to unravel the mysteries of Edward Cullen.

~*~

_Crack._

The hammer landed on the hazy blue bottle with precision and it shattered into dozens of pieces.

My fingers grazed over them, swiftly taking inventory of the ones I would use for my current project. It felt good to use my hands again—it felt fabulous to be productive—to focus on my purpose. Without hesitation I pulled another bottle from the bin and began the process over again, smashing it into bits—transforming what was one thing into another.

When Isabella returned from her investigations she'd laid down for nap, citing fatigue and the prior nights restless sleep. The minute her head hit the pillow and her breathing evened, I darted from the house at full speed to hunt. In under two hours, I managed to find and drain several deer, satiating my hunger and taking a chunk off the edge that was constantly nagging at my body. I'd managed to stay clean—spotless even--and when I returned the trees were blocking the sun and I took the opportunity to venture to my workshop to…work.

The instant I stepped into the barn I felt a bit more at ease. I'd missed coming out here and I hadn't had the opportunity to work or create in weeks…since the day I'd found Isabella. If she was going to stay here for a while (the mere idea caused a unfamiliar fluttering in my body) then I was going to have to merge my work in the garden and Isabella together. I couldn't forget my mission just because I was distracted.

I picked through the shards, pressing into the larger ones with my finger to crush them and make them smaller. These pieces were going on a new marker. Isabella pointed out there were twenty-seven in the garden.

_So far._

The markers represented each one of my kills during my time apart from my family. I led this life for just under three years and then spent the last two solely working on this project. Each year, I made the number of markers for the number of women whose lives I took. I was currently on year three—close but not quite finished.

Separating the pieces I would use from the ones I would end up discarding, I thought about my mishap with the hiker and the odd arrangement with Isabella and how I would be proceeding in the future with this aspect of the project.

I pulled out another bottle, this one more purple than blue, and poised the hammer over the glass. Raising my hand about to strike, I heard the thud of a door and boots on stone.

Isabella was leaving the house.

For a moment I waited in silence, willing her to come to me yet wishing at the same time for her to go another direction. I determined my silence was suspicious and I raised the hammer again, lowering it decisively against the glass.

_Crack__._

The sound reverberated against the barn into the quiet afternoon, and I heard Isabella's feet trudging through the remaining snow in my direction. I grimaced at the smile that wanted to push across my lips. This masochistic need to be around her—see her, smell her--was ridiculous.

It only took her a moment before she came to the barn door and tapped lightly on the window. I pretended to be busy, fingering the shards of glass and organizing them into their appropriate bins. I twisted my neck at her tapping, feigning surprise and with a cocked eyebrow and slight gesture, I waved her in.

With a gust of fresh, cold air, Isabella's scent burst through the doorway and infiltrated my one last refuge.

I forced my eyes from her and continued my work but asked politely, "Did you have a nice nap?"

Isabella took in a deep breath, and shifted her feet next to me, "I did. Thank you."

Her tone was flat and it made me wonder…"Is everything okay?" Again I stole a quick glance away from my hands and at her face. I pushed the work stool at her and offered it with a slight grin. Something was wrong and I wanted to know what.

She lifted herself on the seat of the stool and placed her feet on the bottom rungs. Her legs were spread a little to keep her balance, and I thought about her thighs and how she had encased me in them the night before. She rested her hands in the space in-between, gripping the smooth edge of the seat.

I returned to my work, stifling the low noise that was building in my chest.

"When I nap, I dream. But they are strange and vivid and confusing. They're hard to shake off."

"So you dreamed today?" I asked, picking up a piece of glass and overly inspecting it.

She swung her open legs back and forth and from the corner of my eye I saw her nose twitch. "Yeah, they were weird. You were there and we were in the woods—lost I think. And then we were in your garden and you were pointing out markers and you stopped at one and said, 'this one is yours,' which was freaky and weird." She paused and I held my breath at her strange twisted dream. "The marker was coated in snow, so I bent down to brush it off and sure enough there was my name and a date."

I was riddled with fear and interest. "What date?" I asked in a voice that was not my own. It wasn't an appropriate question.

"January 18th, 2005."

I stood at that—lifting off the seat and walking across the barn as though for some task, but really it was to move and get away from her for a moment.

_January 18__th__, 2005_

Grabbing a pair of gloves out of a tool box as a distraction, I wandered back over to the worktable and said, "And then? Anything else?"

"Not really, we just looked at the date and then looked at one another and continued though the garden."

I nodded and processed this. Isabella's dreams were mystifying—almost like peeling layer after layer to get a nugget of truth. Out of the two of us, I knew which parts were true but to her—each part was a possibility.

Her legs continued to sway was one other weird thing."

I reached for another bottle but this time wrapped it in cloth, not wanting shards to fly in her direction when I broke it. "What?"

"Well, it's such a dream thing…it makes no sense at all…but when we were in the garden it was so bright and so sunny…and your skin—it shimmered like a diamond." She moved from her seat, closer to me, and reached out her hand before trailing a finger down my cheek softly.

I took a minute step away from her and turned—lifting the hammer and bringing it down with a muffled crash on the bottle. Again she struck me silent with her thoughts. How did she know this? How could she even imagine—was she clairvoyant? Was it Alice—had she seen Alice in the sunlight and then transferred it to me like her other dreams? It was all so overwhelming and confusing. And her touch. I needed her to stop touching me.

She seemed to notice my need for distraction and she picked up a piece of glass.

"Be careful." I warned. The last thing we needed in here was a sliced finger.

Isabella gently placed the glass back on the table. "So you make the mosaics on your own? Where do get the bottles?"

"I find them around…most at flea markets or places near here. People around these parts rarely throw things away." I explained, relieved at the change of subject. I picked up a shadowy purplish bottle, "this one was once clear, but as it ages it becomes cloudy and if I'm lucky it forms colors like this."

I handed her the bottle and watched as she fingered the once raised edges of words on its side. "Where did you learn to do this? You're a doctor—obviously you didn't have a lot of time for art school."

I shrugged. "I taught myself. I read books on it. I've traveled many places and was struck by the beauty of this form of storytelling."

We sat in companionable silence as I shifted through the glass pieces on the table.

"About your garden," Isabella started, "can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," I replied, assuming it was about the craftsmanship.

"You seem to recall many dates and location and times. How do you do this? How can you remember?"

God, she was so intuitive. So nosy and brash. Her lack of boundaries was extraordinary.

"I have a very good memory." It was curt, but maybe she needed someone to be abrupt with her.

"So if I throw out a date you can tell me what happened that day?"

"Possibly." If it was one of the dates in the garden? Absolutely.

"May nineteenth" she challenged. It was all she said and it was all she had to say.

My mind went directly to that day, that place, to a broken neck and pooling blood in the dip of a collarbone.

I took a deep breath and focused my eyes on the wet cement and the pieces of glass I was configuring. "I was in Buffalo, New York. It was cold and there was dirty snow on the edges of the street, piles of it where the street scrapers shoved it to the side. It wasn't clean like it is here."

_I found a girl, who looked like you, and I stalked her and tracked her and pulled the life from her body one suck at a time._

"You know where you were and what the weather was like, but tell me, Edward, why do you need to commemorate that day with a marker in your garden?"

I stole a glance at this brash girl and her face betrayed her weakness. She was blushing—fiercely—and her heart was about to burst from her chest. "I did something wrong—horrible—that day. And I want a reminder so it doesn't happen again." In theory, this was correct. In specifics, my statement was lacking.

Isabella slid off her stool and took a step closer and placed a finger on the worktable, nudging a piece of glass. I took a swift look at the wooden box at the back of the table—the one that held her personal items.

"What did you do… that was bad enough for all those markers and the garden as a whole?" Her voice was strained—a slight waver to her words.

I kept my eyes down and my hands working. I couldn't answer that question.

"January 25th, 2005, " she whispered.

My eyes met hers. "What?"

"January 25th, 2005. It's on one of your markers—your first marker."

"Why?" I asked. I knew what this date was—explicitly. But Isabella couldn't know—even if she had her memory.

We stared at each other for a beat. A solitary beat before she said, "I wondered why…what happened on that day to start this? Something happened to change your life in the direction you are in now…alone, building a shrine to your sins."

I snapped my eyes away from hers and began tossing my tools in a box on the floor. How dare she ask these things! Fury boiled under my skin and I could no longer hold in my anger. "Isabella, I don't mind you being here. I don't mind you roaming the garden or my home. I even like it sometimes—I like you—but this…these questions?" I began shaking my head in irritation and disbelief."These are my demons and have nothing to do with you and I owe you no explanations."

Beneath my rage I knew this was a lie of sorts. Although I didn't owe her, they most certainly had something to do with her.

"I'm sorry—it's just close to the date of my dream and…" she stopped herself.

"That must be why you dreamed it. You saw the other date and you were confused." I began packing up my supplies, I needed out of this space and some fresh air. Isabella was treading too close to the truth. January 18th—the day she almost died at my hands. January 25th—the day she almost died at the hands of an out-of-control van, yet was saved by my sister.

The day of my first kill.

Isabella and I were explicitly tied together.

No matter how far I ran, the distance I traveled, the elements of danger that crossed her path—in the end the two of us ended up in the same place.

I looked at the girl in front of me, her nose and cheeks red from the cold. Her eyes were sincere but sad from my outburst. And even though I hated to make her feel badly, there were things she needed to be protected from—that only I could protect her from at this point.

"Come on," I said, and placed my hand on her back—pressing in gently and feeling her warmth. Alice knew all along we were bound and Carlisle probably did as well—after a point. What I needed to figure out now was _why_…_why _were we bound…what did it mean?

~*~

"Here."

Isabella reached for the mug of tea I prepared and tentatively wrapped her fingers around the handle. "Ouch!" she screeched when her hand grazed the edge of the cup.

I reached for it instinctively and pulled it away. "It's too hot. I apologize." I felt like an idiot. I turned and dipped my finger inside the tea noting the temperature for future reference.

"It's okay, Edward," she said, rubbing her hand on the top of her thigh.

"No, its not okay," I argued and drifted to my chair near the fireplace. "I'll hold this until it's cool."

Isabella made a face. "I wanted to hold it to keep warm."

"Use the quilt," I replied, and walked back over to lay it across her legs. She reached her hand out and grabbed my wrist.

"Sit next to me," she demanded and bent her knees, allowing me space, "you can help keep me warm."

I couldn't help but laugh out loud at the idea. I sat though, as if I had a choice, and I immediately felt Isabella's toes under my leg. I glanced at her—to see what expression she wore and was surprised to find her face radiating heat.

That blush was one of the mysteries of this girl. She was forward and blunt and pushy and she did it all unabashedly, but her blush was her tell. Being forceful was hard for her.

"Why are you laughing at me?" she asked a coy smile on her face.

I felt her toes wiggle beneath my granite legs. "Because," I began, searching for truthful words, "you know I'm always cold. I can't imagine I would be of much assistance."

She barked out a laugh of her own, "Nonsense," she said and waved her hand in dismissal.

I narrowed my eyes at her. She was making no sense. I reached out and grabbed her hand off the quilt. "My hands are cold—I'm cold all the time." I pressed my cold fingers into the tender flesh that had been burned by the mug. I was pushing her--her comfort level.

Isabella began manipulating her fingers until they were woven into my own. She dipped her eyes but jutted her chin defiantly. "I become warm anytime I'm near you. Even from across the room. You speed up my heart and heat up my skin. There's something about you, Edward Cullen, that draws me in."

I didn't speak. I couldn't. But I allowed my hand to stay in hers, which was as much as an admission to my own desires. Although I didn't know it until she spoke the words, I felt the same way. My eyes were on our hands and I sat frozen as Isabella shifted closer to me on the sofa.

"Isabella," I whispered—her name low under my breath, "I…I don't know how to do this." I explained. "I've never done this…and I don't think we should."

She was underneath me almost, so small and so warm and just…throbbing with life. "Shouldn't do what?" she asked. I could feel her breath on my neck.

I inhaled her and the rush of venom was quick and furious, causing me to almost choke in my attempts to swallow it back. "This." I mumbled, "It's not right. You're confused and lonely, and I'm…I'm just me—and this is too much."

Isabella turned to face me and pulled up to sit on her knees, her face even with my own.

She took a deep breath and blurted, "You're right. It is too much. Being near you is making me crazy. I just want to touch you. Your face, your skin, your hair. You look like an angel—unnatural and unreal—yet here you are. Sometimes I wake up and wonder if this is the dream—or that I'm dead and I woke up in this cabin with this glorious, mysterious man who is so close but at the same time is so far away."

"I'm no angel," was all I could seem to get out.

She forced my eyes to hers. "I know. I don't know what you did. But I can tell it caused you so much damage."

"No Isabella," I laughed bitterly, shaking my head, "I caused the damage. I did this to myself."

She sat back on her heels and watched me with sympathetic eyes. When she spoke it was low and determined."But you're trying to make it better…with your garden and helping me…and…at some point you have to live for today and not for the past. Today. Now. Here."

I wasn't sure what she wanted me to say…she had no idea what she was absolving. If she did she would run like hell and never return. And sadly, I knew I would follow her. I had been all along. It was twisted and insane, but we were tied and there was no chance I would ever be rid of her.

"Can I do something?" she asked—her eyes blazing. Of course I agreed.

Again, Isabella slung a leg over my hips and settled in. And again I allowed her to do it. The pressure and the weight and her breath and her heartbeat all made me _feel._

Whatever it was she wanted to do, I was going to allow it, because if she could take all this away—even for a moment--it would be worth it. Even if I had to battle hunger and the fire in my throat, the desire feeling her body connected to my body made it all okay.

So I closed my eyes and braced myself for her assault--for her lips and her breath, but they never came. Instead, I felt her fingers tracing the edges of my face, running over the skin on the tips of my ears and down the sharp line of my jaw. Her thumb rubbed the blunt end of my chin, and smoothed the purple hollows under my eyes. She simply touched me and it was more erotic than any image of love or lust I'd ever encountered.

"When was the last time someone touched you, Edward?" she asked quietly as I rested my head on the back of the couch and relaxed under her caresses.

I didn't open my eyes because I feared if I did she would disappear. "Never—no one has ever touched me like this," I confessed and suppressed a shudder as her nails ran over my hairline, yet not quite pushing into the hair itself.

She flattened her palms down my cheeks and let her hands travel down to my neck. Her scent and touch were intoxicating and I allowed my eyes to open to see her and I found her inches away staring sadly at me.

"You're so beautiful it almost hurts, Edward—and to know you've been deprived of this…basic human contact—it makes me sad."

My hand moved on its own, pushing stray locks of hair out of the way and running one of my overly long fingers down the side of her cheek—mimicking her prior action. Her sadness brought me sadness.

"Maybe," I mused as my thumb grazed her bottom lip. "I was just waiting for you."

* * *

Progress? yes, i think maybe so.

thanks Rev and Hol for the betaworks. AG for listening to my rambles.

Hope everyone had an awesome new year. Sorry this was a bit late but things got...you know...hectic.

I have an excellent rec. Take the Cake by sandyk199--listen up. this fic? it's amazing. probably one of the best i have ever read. Feathers_mmmm and i have been fighting over reccing this fic for days but I had dibs. drop everything and go read it. Now.

And FYI-still plan on posting once a week but my days are off now so...yeah, sometime next week?


	17. Chapter 17

~*~

Daedalus in Exile

Chapter 17

~*~

Isabella and I spent the evening like that—her silken fingertips drifting over my face and neck. She should have known something was wrong—that my skin was too tight and there was no tell-tale pulse beating underneath—but she never flinched at the cold or unnaturalness of it all.

She just felt me.

When it became dark, and her stomach began to growl out of hunger and need, I lifted her off my lap and buried her under the blankets in front of the fire. I needed space and she needed food.

I made her a sandwich and soup and watched her as she ate. Even after all these weeks it was fascinating—the gnawing of her teeth and the throbbing of her throat. I marveled over the movements and at her stature—her existence.

How I dared to consider extinguishing her life mere days before was incomprehensible. Ridiculous. Insane.

I studied her as she sat across the table from me, eating and talking, weaving tales from her walks outside and the book she was reading. I half listened—using my gifts of multi-tasking to follow her conversation, while absorbing everything I could about her. I had a new view—a new perspective, in fact. Although I could still see her pulse, thrumming under the skin on her neck, or smell her sweet, delicious aroma, I found myself cataloging a different set of features.

I noticed her eyes, dark and brown—wide against the pale white of her skin. And her skin—it was so soft, so vulnerable—my fingers ached to touch it. Then there was her hair and the tips of her ears and her rounded chin. But most of all I couldn't keep my eyes off her lips and thinking about the wonderful, thrilling things they did with just a touch or a press against my own.

She spoke of the book she picked last night—Edgar Allen Poe—and the thrilling tale it wove. I'd read this of course—I could recite the words from memory. She chose the _Tell Tale-Heart_. One of murder and guilt. Appropriate and intuitive as usual. But as I watched and heard her, the following quote fell from her lips:

_It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived it haunted me day and night_.

"What?" I focused on her words.

Isabella lay her spoon in her empty soup bowl. "That quote, '_It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived it haunted me day and night_.' It's how I feel about my dreams. Once I discover something new I latch to it like a dog on a bone."

I arched an eyebrow in response. I knew the feeling.

So I listened as she explained this reaction, only mildly distracted by the sharpness of her collarbone or the way her hands moved when she spoke. But then her fingers lurched, one pushing to her temple and the other grasping the edge of the table, and her eyes glazed just slightly. It was only for a second, a tiny blip or pause, but it was enough for me.

Isabella needed to see a doctor.

I cleared my throat when she paused and I mentioned casually, "I have an errand I need to make in town tomorrow. For some supplies. Would you like to go with me?"

It was risky and unsure but _I _was risky and unsure, and that criteria had never stopped me before. I _had_ to get her to a doctor.

"Really? On foot? Do you think I can make it on foot?" she asked, and the mixture of excitement and concern were evident in her voice.

I laughed. "No, I don't think you can make it on foot, but I think its dry enough we can take my jeep and probably get to town easily enough."

"Then yes. I would like to go with you."

We smiled at one another and I collected her dishes and moved to the kitchen to wash them in the sink. My mind was already working on my next step—how to convince her once we were in town to head to the hospital or one of the clinics. It wouldn't be easy—nothing with Isabella ever is. Lost in my plans, she snuck up on me—well, not exactly _snuck_ , I knew she was there—but one minute she was replacing items in the refrigerator and the next she had her palm flat across my back, pushing wide circles across the fabric, while I kept my hands steady in the sink.

So simple yet so familiar. Just like everything else about Isabella.

If I'd had a heart, I was more than sure it would have been pounding through my chest at such intimacy and where it might lead. _Where would it lead?_ I wondered to myself. I hadn't the faintest clue. I was sure this type of touch and behavior was beyond what friends participated in, but then again, what did I truly know about relationships?

Very little.

Considering this fact, and that in a day's time she would most likely be furious and possibly out of my life forever, I took a step back, away from her mesmerizing touch, and began tidying another part of the room.

She followed my lead and did the same and eventually I said, "It's been a long day. I think I'm going to retire to my room."

An emotion flickered in her eyes, one I couldn't translate, but a smile curved on her lips and she agreed. "I'll probably go to bed also."

I watched her form travel up the stairs while I extinguished the fire and secured the doors. As I walked up the stairs to my own room, I could hear her performing her nighttime rituals in the bathroom down the hall.

After a moment, I heard her hand on the door and I ducked into my room, busying myself at my closet. Her feet stopped outside my door and she cleared her throat.

"Edward?" she asked, "Do you have any safety pins?"

My eyes furrowed but I went to rummage in a dresser drawer, pulling out a small box of pins. "My mother always seems to have the things around that I would never consider needing." And it was true. More than once I had found products that Isabella needed that I would never have use for.

Isabella was now standing in my room and when I offered her the box she placed it on the dresser. "These pants fit okay last week, but, I think I'm losing weight or something because they keep getting baggier." She pulled her shirt up a little showing me the gaping space between her skin and the waistband of her pants.

The sight caused me to freeze. The movement of her shirt caused a slight breeze and her scent hit my nose with pleasure. My eyes glued to her waist—to the smooth sliver of skin exposed by her drooping pants. I'd seen her skin before. I'd even touched her and seen her entire body when I'd removed her soiled and damaged clothing when she first arrived. But I was preoccupied then. Right now all I could think of was how soft her skin would feel next to the pink plaid flannel wrapped around her body. If my face was buried in her—

"Edward?" she said again, pulling me from my fantasies.

"Huh?"

Luckily she wasn't looking at me and couldn't see the lust fueled venom forming at the edges of my mouth. Her eyes were down, her fingers fumbling with her pants, making tucks on each side.

"Can you help me? I need you to hold this side here while I pin it," she explained and looked up expectantly.

"Yeah, um...sure," I mumbled, stepping closer and putting my fingers over hers to mark the place. The warm fire of her skin sparked the coolness of my own and I shifted nervously.

Her fingers trembled slightly and I feared (or desired) for a moment she would prick herself, bringing us to a different place, but she took a breath and her hand steadied.

She busied herself with pinning the fabric and I tried my hardest not to let my fingers graze her skin even though they did three times. And I tried not to feel pleasure as a shiver ran up her skin, even though it was probably from my cold hands and not my proximity. And I attempted not to notice the way her heart beat faster with each passing minute and how I wanted to reach out and cover her heart with my hand and just _feel_ it thundering underneath.

"There," she said, dropping her shirt and obscuring my view, "That should work for a while."

I swallowed the thickness in my throat as I removed my hand slowly. "Maybe we can get you something that fits better when we go to town tomorrow?"

"I don't know Edward, I think these are fine."

There was conflict lacing her words. "No. They aren't fine. I don't want you uncomfortable," I said, noticing the way her eyes tightened with concern. "No more than you already are."

"It's just…" she sputtered, "You've done so much for me. You shouldn't spend your money on me like this. I'm fine."

I rolled my eyes, relieved it was only money we were talking about. "Isabella, money is not a concern. Please let me do this for you."

Her features softened. "Okay. If it makes you happy."

I laughed, "You know, it does—make me happy that is. I enjoy doing things for you." I was shocked at my admission but it seemed appropriate.

Isabella smiled and rested her hand on the door frame, her hip jutting out provocatively. She looked ready to go but wasn't actually moving. I watched her swallow twice before she actually spoke. "Will you be up if I have another dream?"

I studied her head to toe. She was alluring dressed in pink flannel. What else could I say? "Of course."

_~*~_

I spent that night awake as I'd said I would—as though I had any other choice—but I tried to rest or relax, or calm my increasingly agitated body.

Isabella was doing things to my body.

Countless numbers of books, minds and even my own brothers had shown me what happens to a man when he is _aroused_ by a woman. I'd just never experienced it personally. Not to this extent at least. I'd seen beautiful women and read erotic lines of poetry, but it never resonated inside the way Isabella resonated with me.

With a book rested on my lap I tried to force the images of her skin and her hair and her mouth out of my mind. But it was futile. Every thought lead to another and then another, and then I found myself tossing the book aside and restlessly pacing the room thinking of ways to work out the aggression.

I knew what my brothers would suggest—even Carlisle would suggest _taking matters into my own hands__. _At the time I'd shuddered at the thought—thinking it was just another basic instinct that could be controlled and dominated—like thirst and bloodlust. Not that I hadn't succumbed, I did, I was weak obviously—this was apparent from my three year murder binge alone. But now, with Isabella in my house and on my skin, I was wired tight, my veins felt on fire even though there was nothing running through them. Every time she blessed me with her touch, my skin lit on contact, forcing me to recall the early days of my transition when my senses were raw. If she touched my hand the sensation of arousal traveled quickly, spreading through my limbs and to other, more _dormant_ appendages.

To use vulgar terms: I had a boner.

If only I could go run or hunt to relive some of the pressure, but I'd promised Isabella I would be here if she needed me. Instead I'd been walking in circles to exert some energy, trying to will my body into submission. I paused now, listening at my bedroom door, thinking of Isabella across the hall, sleeping soundly in pinned up flannel pajama bottoms. My hand reached to adjust the tension in my pants. It didn't hurt, it was just so _sensitive_. I felt the desire to build the pressure more, push the limits on this part of my body that had been underused for so long.

I rested my head on the smooth wood of the door and sighed heavily. It was disturbing to consider defiling myself this way when she was so close by. When really all I wanted was for her to do it herself.

I pushed away from the door, forcing myself from temptation and back to my position on the chair. This lasted mere minutes. Seconds perhaps, as I broke down, darting to the bathroom in eager defeat. My fingers worked furiously, one hand securing the door and the other removing my pants and freeing the monster inside.

It was impossibly hard and constricted—it looked more like a weapon than an instrument of love–and for a moment I recoiled at the thought of Isabella ever being near such a thing. It could kill her—would kill her, no doubt—like a dagger to the heart.

Perversely this idea lit my arousal further, and I found myself leaning over the edge of the sink, leveraging my weight on the porcelain while my hand began working my granite skin—choking the flesh into submission. I heard a crack, and saw the sink had shattered under my exuberance. Again this only fed my excitement, and without further encouragement, clear streams of venom began pulsating from the tip all over the basin ledge.

My mind cleared as the hardness abated and I forced myself to look in the mirror. I was ragged, but the look of wild tension had left my eyes and something else had taken its place. As I calmed, my face smoothed and reality sunk in quickly.

Not that I'd envisioned a scenario where it would be appropriate or welcomed, but not until this moment had I even thought about actually having sex with a woman. Killing was always the ultimate temptation. I figured if I were to enter a sexual relationship it would be with another vampire, someone with similar strength and desires, but now…now I thought of my body and her body converging in time and space, and the outcome?

The outcome would be horrific.

I stared at the broken basin and I knew sex was off-limits for me and Isabella. Between the venom and my strength and the unnaturalness of my body, it would kill her as surely as a swift bite to the neck. Both acts I now knew would provide the same sense of perverted pleasure.

I splashed water on my face and neck before washing away the evidence in the sink—I avoided looking in my own eyes. Regardless of my feelings for Isabella, everything seemed to lead back to the same place when it came to the two of us in a relationship.

Death.

~*~

Isabella had insisted on pushing the shopping cart up and down the wide aisles of the home improvement store. She had a glowing smile and an edge of excitement vibrating through her body, all over my perusal of bags of mortar.

"I can't believe you walked that whole way from the cabin to town more than once—that was really far."

I shrugged and fingered some packages, looking for the kind I wanted. The drive was quite treacherous and I had to get out of the Jeep more than once to push it out of muddy spots.

"And look at your boots," she directed, and we both looked at the caked-on mud coating my shoes. "Do you think they're ruined?"

"I'm sure they're fine. If not I can always get more." I stole a glance at Isabella. She looked ridiculously cute in my too large coat and scarf wrapped around her neck. Her hair was down, in an attempt to cover her wound. She typically wore it up at home to let the spot heal, but she told me on the way out of the house she would prefer not to "gross anyone out," so her brown locks hung loose over her shoulders. It smelled glorious. Clean and glorious. Occasionally one of those hair-covered shoulders would bump casually into my own as we meandered through the aisles.

This of course was causing me concern. After my self-serving behavior from the night before, I'd greeted dawn with new resolve. I felt ten pounds lighter after releasing decades of pent up sexual frustration in one massive venom-filled ejaculation. The remainder of the night was spent in an effort to repair my sink, and it was a good thing I'd already planned this trip to the hardware store so I could complete the job. But I knew even more than before that I needed Isabella to get to a doctor, and this weird tap dance of a relationship we were doing needed to stop. No matter what kind of relationship we had, she would only get hurt. Taking her to get checked out was the first step in keeping her safe.

For now though, we were strolling through the aisles of the hardware store appearing like any other couple; bumping shoulders, pointing out items of interest, discussing the level of sand/water ratio in concrete mix.

It was oddly soothing.

Which of course meant things could only go tragically wrong.

While lifting a fifty pound bag of mix into the cart, my nose was assaulted by a familiar yet surprising odor. Discretely, I inhaled and caught a second confirming whiff before I snapped my neck in the direction it was coming from. There was no mistaking it. _Why here_? _After all this time_?

"Hey, I need to run a couple rows over—can you wait here?" Isabella nodded, distracted by the wide rows of products and I took the opportunity to walk backwards, toward the end of the aisle. "Don't move okay?"

It was almost impossible to keep my composure, but I had no choice, and as I got closer the scent became stronger and her thoughts increasingly vivid.

_Over here big brother_.

She shot me an image of the row she was on and I turned to find her looking small and fierce as always.

"Alice," I greeted tentatively—I suspected this visit was not what I hoped.

She graced me with a smile—not a genuine one—and I stood before her completely flustered.

In a hard, quiet voice she declared, "We need to talk."

"Here?" I read the minds of those around us and saw no one was really paying us much attention, but this conversation was a long time coming and I didn't think what we needed to discuss was appropriate for this setting.

"We need to talk," she said again. _About Bella_.

I flinched at the common use of her name—at the fact Alice was closer to her than I was or probably ever could be. "What about her? It seems you left her to the wolves—or _worse_ for that matter. She's my concern now."

The defensiveness I felt was overwhelming. I fought to keep my fists from coiling and striking out. Alice's back was stiff and she was blocking her thoughts by reciting poetry. Edgar Allen Poe to be exact. _How clever_, I thought, rolling my eyes deliberately.

Alice and I had a history of not fighting fair. It came with the fact we both had extraordinary gifts and a passion for always being right. At the moment, we were speaking low, barely even looking at one another, to the shoppers nearby we would look like two other customers—not two vampires in an awkward, hostile reunion.

"I care for Bella more than you could comprehend. I care for her as more than food or some form of treasure—a possession to own." She spat and ran her hand over her forehead, pushing a spiky lock of hair back. "I'm not here to fight, but things are close to getting out of control and I had to intervene."

I stared at her hard. Unbelieving that she was even in front of me. "What do you mean?"

Alice's eyes darted over my shoulder, looking at a man walking toward us with heavy cans of paint. "You can't take her to the hospital."

Her words stunned me. "What? Isn't that exactly what I should do? What I should have done all along? Weeks ago?" I felt like I'd been making progress and now, I was told to stop.

"Theoretically, yes," she said, fingering a package of nails hanging from a shelf, pretending to browse. "But realistically? No. Don't take her."

I felt my jaw tighten and tense. "Why?" I'd stepped toward her while she turned to face me so that my tall frame towered over her tiny body. The fear and confusion I felt was completely overwhelming. Nothing was making any sense. "I'm trying to do the right thing for once here Alice—to make it up. To fix all those bad things I've done—or am still doing." I swallowed and lowered my voice even further. "Why won't you let me fix this--fix us?"

When Alice looked up, her eyes were sad and her mind flashed on that day in the hotel—the day I threw it all away. "Because some things aren't about you. Or me. And sometimes you have to do the wrong thing to make things right." Her words were a riddle and I couldn't make sense of it. "You owe me one, Edward. A big one. I've seen this and I need you to trust that I'm leading this in the right direction. Its taken me years to get everything back on the right path. Don't ruin it for all of us—again."

Again I was consumed by the feeling I was being manipulated by outside forces—that nothing about this situation was in my control. At this point, I was truly trying to do the best thing—t_he right _thing and nothing prepared me for Alice's demand.

"She's sick! Really sick. Something isn't right and I can't help her on my own."

I was fixed by a pair of golden eyes. "You're right, she is. But the solution to her problem isn't a doctor."

This, of course, was ludicrous. A doctor was the only thing she did _need_. My arguments clung to my throat and even as I prepared to speak, Alice's mind flew to Isabella, who was getting impatient waiting for my return.

I shifted out of nervousness and switched gears. "What does she remember? About you or the family?" I asked, desperately forcing eye contact. Alice moved, this time out of her own discomfort. She could try to hate me, but deep down she couldn't—she couldn't deny me.

With a resigned sigh she explained, "Nothing yet, but she will and you need to be prepared for the day that happens."

I knew what she meant. I'd lied and stolen. I'd hidden her personal belongings to keep her with me longer. I had essentially kidnapped her with the intent to murder her. Every day I walked the edge of a very slippery slope.

"When—when does she remember?"

Just then Alice's eyes glazed and she had a vision—a big one—of Isabella falling backwards and cracking her head on the hard floor of the hardware store. Then came a flood of memories, vivid and bright of the two of them, and Forks and Jasper and my entire family. But it wasn't memories as much as a premonition, and Alice's eyes snapped in focus and she looked at me.

"No matter what, Edward, don't take her to the hospital. Trust me." These words came out in a plea, her feet already moving toward the door. She looked beyond me and made eye contact with Isabella who just rounded the corner. Isabella looked with large, expectant eyes, from me to my sister, confusion spreading across her features.

"Edward?" Her feet stopped abruptly and her hand flew to her forehead, but her eyes never stopped shifting between the two of us.

"Go Alice," I whispered—realizing we were moments away from a catastrophe, and in my sister's mind I could see Isabella was one second away from fainting, one second away from injuring herself more, and I forgot my surroundings and sped to break the fall.

I pushed my way underneath her body, catching her mere inches from the ground. Brown hair spilled over the slick, gray cement floor and even though I was prepared, I barely caught her, and was unable to keep her head from bouncing hard against my shoulder. From my spot on the ground I looked for Alice—for some insight, some direction—but she was gone, leaving me with only the unique scent she carried with her, and holding the limp body of Isabella tight against my chest.

~*~

* * *

Whew.

I apologize for the delay--i was working on some other projects and this one... chapter was hard to balance.

Thank you to Rev for betaing admid the vomit and puke of her kids. She's tha best. And HOL for a recheck. And AG for the boner line--she always makes me go _there_ even when i only have a foot in the door. Plus, Songirl encouraged the wank--so thank her.

I have a rec that i have just fallen for this week. How to Save a Life by it is fabulous and is on my faves list. check. it. out.


	18. Chapter 18

~*~

Daedalus in Exile

Chapter 18

~*~

"Ugh."

Isabella moaned from the back of the jeep and I slowly rolled to a stop.

"Isabella?" I asked and pressed the back of my fingers to her cheek. She sighed heavily and clenched her eyes but didn't quite wake up. "Damn it," I sighed, and turned back to the driver's seat, and began the slow drive back to the cabin.

How I managed to get her out of the hardware store was a miracle. People rushed to our aid while I begged off claiming to be her doctor, her boyfriend, or whatever it took to get them to move so I could get to the car. Alice gave me explicit instructions to take her home and I had to have faith in her. I had to have faith in something.

Once outside, I used my speed to get her inside quickly and carefully, lying her in the backseat, wrapping the back of her head in my jacket for support. I made it easily to the turn off for our property, but once on the muddy, slick road I knew it would be dangerous. I feared for her head—and the lack of stability in the back of the Jeep.

"Fuck," I muttered as the tire spun in a deep well of muck. I looked ahead at the drive and I knew there would only be more of these obstacles as I continued. With one glance in the back seat, I swung open the door and climbed in after her.

"I'm going to carry you back," I explained and ignored how easily I slipped back into my role of speaking to a semi-conscious Isabella. As I ran through the woods, cradling her fragile head seemed all too familiar and strange.

My life seemed to be a series of unfortunate events cycling around and around.

We reached the cabin faster by foot but Isabella was cold and shivering by the time we made it up the porch steps and into the house. I ran directly up the stairs, only stopping to crank up the heat on the thermostat before rushing her into my room and lying her across the bed.

I went about making her warm, covering her with blankets and quilts, then I studied her head—there was no blood, thank goodness, and her prior wound hadn't reopened. She was just cold and semi-asleep. I could hear her light moans and words as she struggled for consciousness, like they were loud thunderous yells.

"Isabella…wake up," I shook her lightly on the arm with one hand and pushed her hair out of her eyes with the other.

She mumbled something incoherent and shifted under the covers in discomfort.

"Isabella…" I tried again and this time her eyes fluttered a little before she inhaled deeply and rubbed her face.

"Bella."

My brow furrowed in question even though I was relived she was awake.

"You called me Isabella," she explained while she struggled to shift up in the bed. I moved to help her. "It's just, Bella."

My mind wandered to Alice's last vision of Isabella and her memories, and I couldn't resist asking, "Do you remember me?"

A small smile passed over her lips. "Of course I remember you."

I sucked in a breath and moved closer, going into doctor mode. "How's your head? Any vision problems? Dizziness?"

I'd begun to place my hand on her forehead but she shooed it away with a grimace. "I'm fine. I don't even know what happened…one minute I was walking toward you and the next I was in the Jeep and then it was cold and now I'm here." Her eyes roamed around the room.

"You passed out at the store. I honestly think this is a result of your prior head injury. I should've taken you to the hospital but I promised you I wouldn't—even though now, I'm more than sure it's not the best promise I've made." And it wasn't. It was a terrible idea that I was more than sure was going to backfire on everyone.

"It's okay—it's not the first time I've fainted from what I can recall." Her face warmed red. "Thanks for not taking me to the doctor."

The topic was making me uneasy so I switched gears. "What else…what else do you remember?" I should have felt dread at the question but part of me was just ready to let the games and manipulations go.

"Everything."

Her brown eyes locked with mine when she said it, and even though her mind was still closed to me, I knew she spoke the truth. I was hovering over the bed, unsure as to what to do or what to say. She knew everything. But what did _everything_ mean?

"Where's Alice?" Isabella's eyes lit up at the thought of my sister.

"Alice? She left."

"Oh." Her eyes clouded over and she appeared deep in thought. "So, Alice is your sister? The same one you spoke of."

"Yes." I replied, unwilling to reveal further.

"Weird." She said and laughed humorlessly.

This was difficult—everything was difficult now. But watching her sad eyes and confused expression, I felt the need to explain something. To take the pain off of her and put it back on me. "Alice…she's angry with me and has been for a long time. I told you this—I told you about my family. They don't approve of me and my behaviors and seeing her today was a fluke."

She absorbed this. Maybe thinking about what I had told her before and how it all worked with her memories and what she knew. "Alice is my best friend—did you know that?"

For a brief moment I considered what to say, but in the end I only stared—refusing to elaborate. Isabella may have her memories back, but I wasn't prepared to reveal all my secrets.

"We met in Forks—at school. Remember my dream about the van crushing me? It happened and Alice saved me. She never told you that?"

"Isabella, I'm not exaggerating—I haven't spoken to Alice in close to five years. I had no idea about the accident. Or about your friendship." Both of these statements were true-- even though I had connected the dots on my own, or by looking at her personal items. It was still difficult to hear the final confirmation that Alice had filled this role in her life.

"That van…um…I'm thinking of who drove it? Anyway, it hit a patch of ice and came at me so fast. And Alice she was so small but so fast—she came out of no where and pushed me out of the way. She saved me from being completely crushed." I noticed that Isabella's heart rate picked up a little while retelling the story. "When I woke up in the hospital her dad was there—_your_ dad—and that's when I knew."

Her voice had gone so low, so quiet that even I had to strain to hear. "Knew what?" I played—refusing to be the one to say the word.

"That Alice was different. There was no way she could have reached me so quickly. I pushed your father—but he gave me nothing so I waited and confronted her after school one day. Surprisingly, at the time at least, she was prepared for my questions and she admitted it."

"What?" I blurted, almost choking. "Admitted?"

Isabella nodded and shrugged, un-phased by my outburst and why not? This girl lived in a world of weird, she almost reveled in it. "She told me what you are and how your family lived."

"Just like that? Alice told you everything about our family so easily?" I was astonished. Shocked even. I couldn't believe this was okay with Carlisle, Rosalie or especially Jasper. In all our years, none of us had revealed ourselves to a human. It was against the rules. It was the only rule we even had.

She eyed me from her position on the bed, "She did and she told me about you."

It was if the air sucked out of the room.

"What did she say about me?" I asked. I tried to keep the concern from my voice but doubted I was successful. Did she know about my killings—about the victims left cold, drained and abandoned? Did she know that she was the catalyst for my downfall?

I held my breath in anticipation. "She told me about her brother, and how you had left the family and how she missed you."

"And?"

"And that's all. That you didn't keep in touch—honestly Edward, it upset her to talk about it so I didn't push. But I knew you were always on her mind." She said this with sincerity and defensiveness for her friend. Everything she said made sense, but at the same time, was beyond reason.

"So, you spent your high school years being best friends with a…." I let the words linger—refusing to say them myself.

She sighed with exasperation, an emotion that stunned me for this moment of revelation, "A vampire. Vampires, Edward--that's what you all are."

I'd been almost frozen in discomfort but now my feet itched to move—so I began walking, pacing the room, my mind buzzing with thought. Isabella looked at me with interest, her thin eyebrows pulled tightly together, while her teeth tugged viciously on her lip. I began rambling, "This is just awkward for me…you do realize no one knows about our identity. _No one." _ I raised an eyebrow in question and saw that she nodded in understanding_._

"So this, how did you find me then?" I lied, "Way out here in the woods—well no—I found you. I'm confused Isabella. Was this whole thing a set up? Some kind of game between you and my sister?" The betrayal rose but was over shadowed by confusion and intrigue. It was as if I just discovered missing pieces to a difficult puzzle. I decided to push. "Alice sent you out here for me to find you? If that is even remotely true then _that_ was a very dangerous game to play. Do you know this?"

_You have no idea who I am!_ I wanted to scream, but the look on her face kept me from saying the words.

Isabella's face flushed at my tone and she stuttered, "N..n..no! No! I didn't know I would find you out here. I just…" she cut herself off and her eyes darted away from mine—the rims filling with tears.

I immediately felt remorse for my words. I expected her to be angry but instead she just looked tired and overwhelmed. She was vulnerable and raw and all I wanted was to touch her—comfort her. But I was angry—so angry—and instead of apologizing, we sat in an uncomfortable silence until she asked, "Edward, I'm really tired—do you mind if I take a nap?"

I stared at her long and hard. She was hiding something, I knew this to be true, but so was I—who was I to blame her for protecting herself? I nodded and I felt her eyes follow me as I moved toward the door but before I could grasp the knob I heard her ask, "Edward? Can you stay? At least until I fall asleep?" I studied the purplish spots under her eyes and the red tint that crept up her neck and couldn't say no.

I nodded and moved to my chair to wait for sleep to take her. She sighed lightly, restoring her lungs to an even pace and her eyes fluttered shut. Isabella slept and I watched marveling, in the fact that even after all... after finding out who I was, and who she was, she still wanted me close.

~*~

While Isabella slept, I spent the afternoon thinking about everything that had occurred. Her heart rate and breathing remained normal and from what I could tell, there was no swelling or bruising to worry about. I'd already dropped my normal pretense of reading or working while Isabella slept. If she truly knew what I was then she knew I didn't sleep, eat or do other human things. As strange as it was, I was relieved that I didn't have to hide anymore, and also relived she definitely knew not to pursue a relationship with me outside of friendship (at best). The idea made me feel a hundred pounds lighter—yet filled with sadness at the same time. Whoever said you can't miss what you've never had was a fool.

Shadows crossed the bed as night began to fall and Isabella stirred. She sat upright and immediately began scanning the room for me, her eyes relaxing once they landed on mine.

I felt my jaw clench. Isabella shouldn't feel relief from seeing me. I was a predator and it was stupid to feel anything but fear in my presence.

"How long did I sleep?" she asked, stretching her arms high and wide.

"A couple hours."

I stood and walked to the edge of the bed. "I'm going to get you some dinner—and then go out for a while. I'll be back after that." My words were tight. Almost daring her to ask me where I was going. _Hunting_, I'd reply_, I'm thirsty and it's your blood or an animal's. Any preference? _I wasn't sure when my attitude shifted but it had and I was a little uncomfortable with her consciously close proximity.

To my dismay, all she replied with was a simple "Thanks," and I left the room to prepare her dinner.

An hour later I was calf deep in a creek tossing the remains of a mid-sized deer on the bank. It landed with a loud but soft thump on the soggy forest floor—its lifeless head lolling to the side. I'd been prepared to run first in an attempt to release the pent up anger and energy I'd been feeling for the last several days, but as soon as I caught the animal's scent, I pursued it without caution, flinging myself at it and devouring it in moments.

I made no effort to keep myself clean to preserve the idea in Isabella's mind that I was civilized like my family. I didn't go to school or to work, or make friends with humans in an effort to fight off my inner demons. I wasn't a healer or a mother or some humans' best friend. I succumbed to my demons. I reveled in them.

Two more deer and a coyote later I left my soggy, wet boots at the door and climbed the stairs to my room, bracing myself for Isabella, whom I expected to still be lying in my bed. To my surprise, when I reached the top of the stairs, her bedroom door was closed while mine was open and dark. Without hitting the switch, I glanced around the room to make sure she was gone—but I knew, from the lack of her heartbeat and breathing she wasn't in the room—so I began stripping, removing layers of wet, dirty clothing and dropping them in a trail across the floor from my door to the bathroom.

In the shower I washed away the scent of animal and outdoors, scrubbing away my reality. Afterwards, I wiped my hand across the foggy mirror and stared at my eyes, yellow like a cat (the orange had mostly faded), and thought about how this was the signal to my body's hunger being met—the burn that rolled down my neck implied otherwise.

Even though I didn't want to kill her—every instinct in my body wanted to consume her. I rolled my eyes at my hard-on, its almost permanence since she'd awoken. It was only further evidence of my depravity and complete lack of moral compass. I finished at the sink, with one last scowl at my face and a quick swipe through my hair and left the room.

I refused to hide in my room all night—pretending to sleep, attempting a false sense of normalcy. If she wanted to run with vampires—a real vampire for once—then I would no longer perpetuate the charade.

Just as I left my room and rounded the corner to the stairs I heard the soft click of her door unlatching. My feet stopped out of habit—wondering if she needed me then cursed myself for caring. I felt the vibrations of her feet on the floor as she moved.

The hallway was dark, the only light coming from her room and the living room down below.

"I remember you," she whispered softly. "I do. From that first day—when I arrived in Forks. I saw you in the cafeteria and I thought I had never seen a boy so beautiful. Never."

I refused to look at her—acknowledge her words—I could taste my confession on the tip of my tongue. _I remember you, too. I thought you were ordinary and plain. Nothing exciting to look at or see. But you were silent and had caught my attention for that fact alone._

"Then I walked into that class, realizing you were my table mate and I thought 'Holy fuck—that guy, Edward Cullen is going to be my lab partner.' I was filled with a mixture of excitement and dread. You were very intimidating. But then…"

I knew what she was thinking. I knew the memory she held, of me glaring and angry, barely able to contain myself for the hour we were trapped next to one another. _I wanted to suck the life out of your body, drag you to the woods, massacre an entire class of children just to taste you once…_

"You looked at me with such hostility," she continued, a small quiver evident in her voice. "I couldn't figure out what I did. I went home and cried that night out of embarrassment and frustration."

My fingers wrapped tightly around the banister. "At least you went home." The words came out soft—I wasn't even sure she heard so I spun on my feet. "You were one instant away from death that day Isabella. _One_."

I searched her face for shock but I only found dark, brown, soulful eyes. "I remember you too. What you were wearing, how your hair looked, the words Jessica Stanley muttered in your ear about me and my family. I remember the second your foot crossed the threshold into that classroom and I _smelled_ you—I almost took you there." I snapped my fingers. "Like that. I calculated the risks. I considered luring you from the school, I planned to follow you home and take my time with you while your father, Chief Swan, was out of the house."

We stared at one another for a long, tense moment. Her face was shadowed at the top of the stairs and since I was a step or two below, we were almost even in height for once. She opened her mouth to speak more than once before she finally said, "But you didn't. Because your family is different. You didn't kill me. And Alice and your father saved me. They took care of me and protected me."

I shook my head slowly and narrowed my eyes. "I didn't but it's not because I'm like my family. You know _nothing_ about me or the things I have done or am capable of doing."

We both swallowed thickly. "Do you want to kill me now?"

"Yes."

She nodded at my words—accepting them—licking her lips and forcing my eyes to her tongue. Her eyebrow arched and she asked, "What do you want more; to kill me or kiss me?"

I realized too late she was standing too close and that her heart was pounding too hard—giving away her fear. I couldn't believe her brazen words, but she had my thoughts tangled…which one _did_ I want more? It was a toss up at any given moment. "It's not about what I want Isabella—it's about what you should want. And you shouldn't be playing these games with me if you don't want to get hurt."

She took a step down, which made her face harder to see but her body that much closer and I could feel her heat and her breath and her heartbeat vibrating off her body and onto my own. She tilted her head up, giving me a view of her soulful eyes and the tempting pink of her lips. "I've never been very good at following directions and I definitely have a history of getting into trouble and in over my head. I'm not afraid of you Edward Cullen and you can't scare me off. I may not know everything about you, but what I do know... I like," her words were confident and strong and I felt her hands move from her sides to my chest where they spread wide and possessively. "You may think you know me but you don't. We both have our secrets it seems, but there is something else we hold in common, and that is an unyielding desire for one another."

Her words shook me—taunted me—and before I could respond, she grabbed me by the collar and tugged. I didn't resist or fight her mouth as she pushed her lips on mine. Instead I inhaled her breath and tasted her mouth, the tip of her tongue and felt all the emotions that boiled just under my surface. The hallway filled with her gasps for air and the sound my hands made as they wound through her hair. I felt her hips lurch into mine and I fought against the compelling urge to push back until she lay on the stairs.

I broke away, holding her back by the shoulders, and grimaced at the smirk on her face. She thought she'd beaten me—worn me down. She was wrong.

I took a step back—away from her thrumming heart and said, "You're right. The desire is unyielding but it takes you to a place you will never return from. You want to know my secrets? My demons?"

She was nodding the entire time, rubbing a finger over her swollen lips—wanting to know before I could even get the words out. I reached for her hand and pulled—harder than I should have.

"Get your coat," I directed and walked down the stairs.

* * *

Things are just moving and moving and moving. Just to forewarn...this fic is wrapping up. It may seem soon or too quick but that's the plan. Maybe 2 more. Sooo, wrap yer mind around that one and prepare. (I always need preparation for a fic ending)

Thanks Rev & AG for the Beta

Thank you for all the great reviews and comments--i read every one and reply to the ones i can.

In the next couple of days The Southern Fan Ficton Review will be posting an article by me that i did with AG. Us southern girlz try to stick together. Ima post the link on my thread.

Oh and i apologize for the half way done rec last week for How to Save a Life by unholy (dot) obsession. i think i got excited. Frankly this is still my rec of the week. I am totally in love with this one and haven't found anything else to meet my needs since. Send me rec if you have something worthy.

til next week~angel


	19. Chapter 19

~*~

Daedalus in Exile

Chapter 19

~*~

The crunch of snow was the only indication Isabella and I were outside the cabin, walking in the direction my 'garden'. More than once I heard her stumble in the darkness while trying to keep up with my much longer legs. I forced myself to ignore her—I needed space and air away from her alluring body and mouth, I could still taste her on my lips, and right nowshe needed to see who I really was—who I really am.

Isabella needed to stop playing games with the devil before she really got hurt.

Pushing the front gate back, I dropped behind the fence and located an electrical box, and then flipped the switch inside. Glowing light filtered from above casting hazy shadows.

From several feet behind me Isabella gasped, "Oh! It's beautiful." I watched the lights reflect off her eyes and even my skin, a prism of colors smattering across the rocks. She lifted her finger to touch a crystal bulb hanging from a string of lights

I flinched at her words and moved directly in front of her. With a grimace I said, "It's a mockery. I am mocking those who died because of my weakness." I reached up and yanked the bulb off the string and smashed it across the hard face of a stone marker. The glass shattered to the soft ground beneath with a musical sound. When I turned to face her, I hoped for fear and uncertainty, but again Isabella refused to give me my due.

"It's not a mockery—it's a tribute." Her eyes were kind and the sincerity in her voice was foolish.

"You told me that you wanted to experience the garden through my eyes. Correct?"

She nodded. "Yes,"

With purpose I walked away and stood in front of a marker. I bent over it and grazed my hand over the craftsmanship. The lights from above reflected off the hundreds of glass pieces across its front. The date read March 19, 2005. It was the date Isabella challenged me with in the workshop.

"I killed her in Toronto. I saw her hair first and her porcelain skin next. She was in a bar with her friends celebrating the day, and before the night was over, I'd sweet talked her into walking to the privacy of a back room. I tore her throat out before her friends even knew she was missing."

Isabella was now standing behind me, quiet, but a gust of wind washed her scent over me. She may pretend to be unafraid. but there was a hint of nervousness in her sweat, her heart pounding erratically. I felt my stomach coil and the venom gush. I felt my groin tighten significantly. My methods made me feel ill—confessing these things—speaking them aloud was disgusting. The acts were disgusting. Yet thinking of that girl—thinking of the inadequacy of her blood and her flesh and knowing…knowing I had the real version behind me…listening to these stories, my tales of horror and not running? It was beyond exhilarating.

I pressed forward.

"June 13, 2005." I pointed to a random marker. "I saw her in the library. Actually I saw her first in the mind of her friend—her lover. His thoughts were of an angel. Dark haired and young. I took the opportunity of her requiring a book in the stacks to approach her. She was small," I flicked my eyes toward Isabella, "like you. And I assisted her in reaching for a book located too high. I knew she wasn't the one. I knew it before I did it, but—" I found myself next to Isabella with my nose pressed to her exposed throat, reliving the moment. Her pulse was raging under her fair skin, goose bumps lined her flesh. All it would take was one moment—one quick slice into her and all this would be over. Instead, I held my breath and gained control of the venom, the desire and my body.

The man inside—the red blooded, lust fueled man—burned under my skin. He desired her as much as the animal wanted to drink from her. It was why the venom coated my throat and the reason my hands ran down her arms--feeling her.

It was a moment before Isabella followed. She hesitated—which brought the ghost of a smile to my lips. My goal was to instill fear—doubt. Anything to make her understand.

"So you killed all of these people."

"Of course." I replied, turning away to walk forward and not looking in her direction.

"Twenty-seven people," she announced, recalling the number she had counted earlier. I detected a tiny waver in her voice.

I stopped and faced her now. I wanted to see her expression when I challenged this. "No. Not twenty-seven."

Her eyes fluttered around me, glancing over the stones and her mouth moved. Those pink, wet lips moved silently as she counted. "Yes, twenty-seven. Twenty-seven markers."

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair—pushing thoughts of pink lips from my brain. "It's incomplete."

Isabella's eyes widened, controlled still, she was maintaining an extreme level of control over her sense and reactions. She didn't want to be shocked by me. She was fighting it as much as I was pushing it.

We really were quite the pair.

With a long, cold finger I pointed to a stone. "August 17th, 2005. I made the risky decision to travel to the south in the summer. I wanted to get caught in the sun, hoping to be betrayed by my demon skin. No one noticed—or no one cared and I plucked a young thing off the sidewalk one day who wore a short skirt and too small top. She could never be you but…" I paused, feeling a hint of shame at my disclosures, "I just wanted to make the pain go away." I reached down and rubbed the thin layer of dirt and grime off the glass design. "It was so hot and oppressively humid and my throat...ached. She almost slipped from my grip—the layer of sweat so heavy down her arms. She called me the devil—and I laughed, relishing the fact that she'd call me out to my face."

I turned and stepped quickly, too quickly into Isabella's space. "Don't you see? I'm a monster. I killed for sport. It's a game I played. It was a rush." I lifted a finger under her chin, "But you…you're the biggest rush of them all."

With her hands firmly shoved in her pockets, I watched as Isabella squared her shoulders with mine. Her jaw clenched and she let my finger rest on her skin. Fearless. Or so she wanted to appear. The slight shaking of her hand gave her away. Even if she wanted to deny it, she _knew_ what I was capable of.

"Okay so, you killed people." She looked around the garden. "Lots of them. But you're a vampire Edward. Vampires eat people. Not only that, you actually created a memorial for them—that is more than any other vampire I'm sure."

I processed her rationalization. I'd said it to myself a million times—but she was missing out on the key ingredient. "Not like this." I shook my head and repeated, "Not like this." I took a step forward, and closed my eyes while I inhaled, breathing in her unique scent. "You're right. We kill to sustain ourselves and even the Cullen's have all had their indiscretions. None of us are perfect—except Carlisle, of course, but he's a total anomaly."

She nodded, "I know. I know about them all. I know about Alice and her empty past, and I know about Jasper and his tragic one. Rosalie and her revenge. Emmett and his weakness. I know about them all."

I stared at her hard, afraid to ask my question in return. "What do you know about me?"

She shifted and her hands twisted in her coat pockets. "Not a lot. I told you this. Alice wouldn't talk about you very much." Then in a lower voice she said, "No matter how much I tried."

"What does that mean?"

Isabella huffed and looked at her toes. "It means I was obsessed with you—ever since that first day. And then when Alice and I became friends and I knew the truth about her and your family and that you, _you, _were part of the family—I wanted more. I always wanted to know more—to find out more."

I can only imagine the expression on my face—how my jaw had slacked and my brow furrowed. Isabella was now confessing to _me_.

She looked up with watery, guilt-filled eyes and said, "I snuck in your room. Touched your things. I spent hours in Carlisle's study looking at portraits and photographs. I sat at your piano, stroking keys, in a desperate attempt to find out more and…"

"And what?" It came out as a whisper. I was stunned—shocked to hear her words—her thoughts and feelings.

She sighed heavily, "To find out why there was such a connection. Why were we connected? _Why_ was I obsessed with a boy I had only seen once."

In that instant everything just…snapped. Rage coursed through my body. Fate and destiny and cosmic forces were _fucking_ with my life. I flew across the garden with no consideration of Isabella and lifted the first marker and shattered it with my fist. A smug grin crossed my lips when I heard Isabella gasp in surprise.

I gestured to the pile of cement and glass. "This woman died in your place!" I moved to the next one and kicked it over violently, "And this one," I moved down the row destroying the monuments I'd slaved over one by one. "This woman…she had brown eyes like yours—she begged for her mother, she offered me her money, her body, but none of it I wanted…in the end I simply took her life." My body rolled with tension and I fisted my hands by my side to maintain control.

Refusing to look behind me I continued on in my fit of anger. "Oh, and this girl…she smelled like strawberries. I have no idea why that set me off but it was the only justification I needed." I kicked the remains of her marker--scattering them harshly across the path. "Right before I killed her, her hands stroked the gold cross at her neck and she had the nerve to absolve me of sins. She forgave me! " I spat the words into the darkness—remembering how that girl shook me to my bones.

I spared a glance at the angel behind me, looking at me with the same measure of forgiveness and acceptance of that girl from before. I roared with frustration--my voice echoing off the trees."This is when you should run Isabella!"

Isabella, of course, did not run. She continued to stare at the destruction I had left in my wake unitl she forced out a low, "You remembered me."

_This?_ This was what she took away from my confessions? "Yes. Explicitly. I recall every single detail about our first encounter."

I swear I saw a brief glimmer of hope in her eyes.

"Why this? Why these girls?" She asked—her eyes roaming the piles of debris.

"Why?" I repeated although I heard her clearly. "Because I, too, was obsessed with you after that first day. Like I said before, you barely made it from the room. It was only out of respect for my father that I didn't return and finish the job." With that confession I felt the pull to go to her—be near her—feel her. I rushed to her, towering over her cold, hunched frame. She looked up at me with those irreplaceable brown eyes and it was like a jolt of lighting.

"I spent years trying to replace you. I craved your blood so much—with such a longing—that I traveled the world searching for just one drop that could compare. I killed so many innocents, Isabella, all with your hair or skin tone or watered down scent. I was greedy and weak. My family hated me, which now of course makes more sense than ever, but I was alone by choice—killing by choice. I was filled with this insatiable desire to…_taste you_."

My hands moved on their own, and I gently reached around her neck, lacing my fingers in her hair. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed and I saw the fear in her eyes, yet she didn't move. I dipped my head and sucked gently. Isabella moaned under my touch--her body becoming weak and limp. I sighed and pulled away.

Stupid, stupid girl.

Then in a small voice, she asked the question of the night."You killed them all because of me?"

"Every one." I admitted—refusing to deny my actions.

"But you didn't kill me."

Her eyes pierced mine and I shook my head. "No. I didn't."

"You saved me."

I tilted my head and raised an eyebrow. "No. Well, yes. I did. But I did other things. Other really, really, inappropriate things."

Her body stiffened under mine and immediately I understood her tension, because I could have. I could have done those things if I had even been aware of those feelings at the time. "Nothing like that," I assured, "But still, I am guilty of many sins." I ran my hand down her back and pulled her a bit possessively into my body.

"Name one." She challenged.

I laughed. Loud and boisterous through the night air, "I can do better than one. I lied, stole, coveted. The list is endless. I was going to kill you. I had all these horrible intentions. I was going to take you in the forest. Then I was going to take you at home, then…things changed."

I'd almost revealed too much. I dropped my hand and stepped away. But of course Isabella had other ideas and stepped forward, extracting her hands from her coat and pushing them into the edge of my pants, anchoring herself to me. "Tell me—how did it change? How did you change?"

"I became possessive. I wanted to _keep_ you. When I didn't kill you, it became less about food—less about draining you and more about possessing you." I felt her fingers wind tighter around the fabric at my waist. I looked over her head, ashamed at my next thought, "I don't know if you understand how we operate Isabella—how we truly operate, but when we make a determination in our lives—an attachment of some kind—it is almost impossible for us to ever _detach_ from that situation."

Her fingers brushed across my skin, cold and dry, "And I am that attachment for you?"

_Absolutely._

I swallowed back the venom and nodded. "Once you entered my home there was no way I could ever let you out of my grip again."

"But you offered—you tried to get me to go to the doctor—to leave more than once!"

Again I laughed, but this time more darkly, "See, you don't understand. I could let you go. I could send you away—but at the same time for the rest of your life I would follow you—track you. I would watch you from your window. Rifle through your things. Read the minds of all of those around you. You could marry and have babies and grandchildren and a long healthy life and I would just be a ghost in the shadows." It was disturbing and insane, but it was the complete truth. I had nothing left to hide. "It's basically what I did the first time around. I realize now I just transferred it to those poor, unsuspecting women...I'm bound to you."

Isabella still clung to my pants, her fingers warming from the friction against my skin. This warmth caused other types of warmth to spread downward and throughout my body.

Exasperated I grabbed her shoulders and said, "Doesn't this frighten you? Do my decisions and mistakes and the fact I'm a cold blooded killer mean _nothing_ to you?"

She shivered, either from the cold or from my words, her breath came out heavy, in a puff of fog that I swallowed greedily once it hit the air. I wanted to consume her and it was as though a giant clock was ticking in my brain. I was losing her. This was going to push her away. There was no way I could keep her after this and even though I would try—she wouldn't ever be mine to have.

"I'm not going to lie and pretend your behavior isn't shocking." She said these words slowly—carefully. "Of course you're trying to scare me away—but I believe you, I believe you did that to those women." Her voice was small and sad. She felt sadness for the women—even now, with a monster in her face, threatening and insane—she felt compassion. "I hate the fact they died in my place."

"But," she continued, and her fingers loosened from my pants and moved up my chest, causing me to inhale sharply, "You've done nothing but protect me and treat me with kindness and care. I don't know that other man—the monster you speak of. I only know the Edward in front of me."

"What does that mean Isabella? What does it even mean? I'm not human. You are. You are fragile and weak—you're sick! My skin should repulse you but you continue to touch it. My lips are hard and cold, yet you taunt me with your own. I can't be your lover Isabella. I can't be your friend. You don't understand the level at which I desire to _consume _you. All of you. Your blood, your body, if I could, I would take your soul just to possess it."

Astonishingly, I said these words and she responded by pulling me to her and threading her fingers into the back of my hair. Her lips hovered near mine, her tongue darted out, mere inches away from my own. When she spoke it was low and husky—unfamiliar. "I want those things. I _want _you. I _want_ to devour every inch of your body and mind. You speak of murder… I won't judge you on your nature. You speak of death—my death and..." Her words were lost on me, I wanted to be covered in her skin—by her mouth. "This…_this_ is wrong and it's destructive and I don't _care_. I just don't care."

Isabella lunged at my body, her legs snaking around my own, looking for leverage which I supplied by reaching for her thighs and pulling her upward, closer and tighter. Her lips, cold and chapped were on mine, working against my own—frantic. It was frantic. _We_ were frantic.

"You don't want this." I snarled yet my fingers knotted in the back of her coat.

She shivered, clinging to my neck. It was out of cold, not desire, her temperature was dropping and in a burst I carried her out of the garden, over the broken markers and piles of glass, away from the shimmering lights and reminders of the past. I took her to the barn, where it was warmer and brighter. The entire time her mouth was connected to my own, her hands roamed my body searching, grasping, groping. I kicked the door open and it landed with a loud crack against the wall as it swung violently off its hinge. Once inside, I dropped her on the table—the work table where I'd built the very markers I just destroyed in a fit of rage and confession.

Isabella squirmed on the wooden slab, her legs still wrapped around my hips—her hips thrusting into my own—her fingers inching up my stomach and her lips…her lips were no longer cold but heated, burning a trail across the flesh of my throat.

The animal inside roared.

"Aggghh!" I yelled, forcing her hands to still. "We're not done," I breathed, pulling my neck away from her mouth and missing the pressure immediately. "There's more to tell and more I need to know."

She groaned dramatically, bringing her lips to mine again, sucking and gnawing her way across my lips. My body reacted on instinct, my hands tugging her hair, pulling her coat off her shoulders trying to reach more of her. Only when she offered a deep moan did I pull myself from the fog.

"Stop."

Isabella stopped slowly, painfully and ran her hand across her lips. She appeared annoyed. Exasperated even. "What? What else do you need to know? What else could I possibly have to tell."

We were eye to eye and I forced her to hold contact. "There's one thing I don't understand…that I haven't figured out. Why are you here? Why did Alice send you to the woods…why did she test me when it could have ended so badly?" _When it still will end badly I thought_, pushing my desires aside.

Guilt flashed in her eyes. "I know," she said, "Well, I didn't. I didn't fully understand until now—tonight."

I nodded eagerly for her to continue. Isabella took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and tantalizingly. "Alice is my best friend Edward. I'm not sure if you understand this concept. Best. Friend. We would do anything for one another. But one thing. There was one thing she refused to do."

I couldn't follow her thoughts or her words—what would Alice deny her? Alice was loyal to a fault—I knew this more than anyone. "What? What wouldn't she do?"

She moved her hands, warmer now but shaking nonetheless, to the sides of my face—stroking my jaw with her thumbs, causing the fire in my throat to flame anew. "Alice isn't a murderer."

My head shook in confusion. "No, no she isn't."

"But you are."

This time I nodded, "I am."

Isabella's eyes were wide and active, searching my face for understanding and comprehension. "Edward, Alice sent me here to die. She sent me so you could do it. I need you…to murder me."

* * *

Good news? I have decided to add a chapter--to balance it all out and make it work a little better....so instead of one more there should be two.

Thanks to Rev, Songirl & AG for betaing.

thanks for all the awesome reviews and comments and recs and love.

Rec of the week: Girl with the Red Umbrella by Spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. It's a nice little mystery wrapped in a love story.


	20. Chapter 20

(This chapter contains graphic violence and adult content)

~*~

Daedalus in Exile

Chapter 20

~*~

I studied Isabella's red cheeks and puffy lips while trying to discern what she'd said.

"You think Alice sent you here for me to kill you?" I blurted and saw that she quickly nodded her agreement.

It was absurd.

So absurd, in fact, that I began laughing. First it was low in my chest but it bubbled upward, spilling into the drafty, open space of the barn and echoing off the wooden beams that supported the roof.

Absurd.

Isabella's face creased in confusion—as it should have. This was some kind of trick—more of a game than a test—and when I got my hands on Alice, I was going to do some damage indeed.

I raised an eyebrow at the girl in front of me. The _human_ girl I'd just shared passionate kisses with, and spilled my secrets to. She didn't look amused. "I realize you just announced your murderous past, and my situation is less dramatic maybe, but I am a little surprised you would laugh at me like that."

I frowned at her words. Isabella was more than a bit of drama in my life. Surely she _and_ Alice could understand this now. I pushed between her legs, and laced my fingers under her thighs, unable to control my new need to be close to her—regardless of this insane situation. Her breath still rattled wildly from before, and I couldn't help but lean forward and whisper across her chest. "Alice is playing games with me. I'm not sure what you did, but you got caught in her snare. It's not possible that she would want me to kill you. Impossible." I repeated.

I felt her small fingers flatten across my own chest and she attempted to push me back. I allowed her to. "It's not a game. Alice gave me a map and had me write down directions leading me to the middle of the forest—off the path. She told me…"

My eyes narrowed suspiciously, "She told you what?"

"It's just… before I left, I had some heath problems..."

I reached behind her and found the wooden box on top of the worktable. In an instant I had her belongings in my hand and I offered them to her without fanfare.

"I know." Curiously, I watched as she thumbed through her notebook and wallet—a look of betrayal developing on her face.

"What's this?" She asked, pulling a large pile of papers out of an envelope.

I shrugged, "Your medical records."

"My…" her face turned red—redder than before. "How…?"

Again I shrugged—I enjoyed getting to her—I enjoyed turning the tables on her for a moment. "I'm a doctor remember? I lie. I cheat. I steal. There is nothing I wouldn't do to get my way." I sighed and looked out the window toward my demolished garden. "I thought I'd made this clear."

Isabella swallowed and, interestingly enough, tears sprung to her eyes. "Then you know?"

"I know about the accident. I know my father and other specialists treated you. I know you left school this fall. I've met your former roommate, your dorm mates, and heard the stories of your illness and sudden departure from school. I know you came out here and found me and almost died in the process—unbelievably, _not _at my hands." I announced. I could heard the hardness in my voice. This whole thing was confusing and strange. I felt out of control and I didn't like it.

Isabella eyed me cautiously. I couldn't blame her, my emotions were all over the place. Her eyes ran over the paperwork once more, before she tossed it to the side and rested the wallet and notebook on top. She picked up a large, stray piece of bluish glass from the table and toyed with it, before suddenly blurting, "I'm dying."

I grimaced, unsure of what to do with that statement, but I noticed my hands tightened around her thighs. "Not if you let me get you help." Again, I dropped my head, resting it on her shoulder, inhaling deeply.

Her chest expanded and released. "Not even then." Her hands tugged at my hair, lifting my face to hers. "I'm dying."

I looked over her shoulder, wishing I could read her mind—see her thoughts. "Alice saw this?" None of it made sense… why wouldn't she just tell me from the beginning? Why would she bring her here for me to kill if she was dying anyway?

Isabella ran her hands over her face, scrubbing at her eyes. They were red, and purplish spots were forming under her eyes. She was exhausted. "Let's go inside. You can tell me there." She nodded in agreement and I lifted her off the table. "Close your eyes," I directed and the second they were shut I ran, making it to the porch and inside the house in seconds. Resting her on the couch, I slipped her arms out of her jacket and pulled her boots off her feet.

I rested on my knees in front of her. "Tell me—what did Alice say? What did she see?"

When Isabella finally spoke her voice wasn't as confident as before. "After the accident and I knew the truth about your family. I continued to have headaches and dizziness. Sometimes I had short-term memory problems with information I learned at school. My dad was worried and I was tired and things were just kind of crappy all around."

I watched as she pulled her sleeves over her wrists. I thought about Alice watching all this and how she must have worried about Isabella. My sister didn't like to sit by and watch things happen to her family or friends.

"One afternoon, senior year, I was taking a nap. The headaches were so bad sometimes. I woke up to find Alice in my room. She was frantic. Her eyes dark and her hair wilder than usual. It took me a while to calm her down but she eventually told me the truth. That this head injury was going to kill me."

"Did she say when?" It was the only question I could even pose.

Isabella shook her head, "No. She was vague. She said she could only see the result, but that one day, sooner than later, it would happen."

"But you told me earlier that she didn't tell you to find me—that she didn't direct you here, correct?"

"No, not exactly. I never told her about my… _interest_… in you, and she never told me where you lived. I didn't know if she even knew. But after I left school, things became very dark for me, and she suggested I take a pilgrimage of sorts."

I cocked an eyebrow at the term but she continued before I could speak. "She gave me a map and sent me to the forest. She told me to get off the trail at a certain point and to trust her—that she had seen the future and this was the only way things could work out."

"So you just did it—you just did what she told you—no questions asked?" I asked, my tone harsh. I was suddenly furious that she would follow my sister's demands so easily—so rashly.

She furrowed her brow and responded with absolute sincerity, "And you wouldn't? Why would you ever challenge Alice and her visions?"

Why, indeed.

"So I was supposed to find you and just… kill you? Put you out of your misery?" I scoffed, standing now—towering over her.

Isabella was tiny below me, huddled on the couch. Her eyes were wide, and I expected fear, though that wasn't what I saw in her eyes. "I think maybe Alice saw something more."

I swallowed and considered her words, including the ones she wasn't saying out loud. My head began shaking on its own. "No."

There was no way.

"I think maybe she sent me here for you to help me, not ki—hurt me."

I shook my head, violently.

"You'd rather I die?" Her eyes narrowed in what appeared to be anger.

I backed away and paced a little before almost shouting, "You'd die anyway!"

Isabella lurched upright, her body almost lifting off the couch from her hostility. "What does that even mean?" Her words clashed against the silence of the room. We stared at one another for a long moment and my eyes combed over her. I wanted to touch every inch of her body. Her skin, her lips, her arms and legs. I wanted to bury myself inside her and… I wanted to taste her.

_Badly._

But if she was right, if Isabella was reading my crazy, pushy, obnoxious sister right, then Alice wanted me to change her. Alice wanted me to drink from her, _yet_ not kill her.

Alice wanted the impossible.

I threw my hands in the air, "It means I can't change you. Alice is insane."

"What? Why? Why not?" Her eyes cast down and her words came out in a mumble, "Why won't you do it?"

I rushed to her and reached for her arms, dragging her off the seat. "I _can't_ do it." I sighed and dropped her arms, and turning my back to her, added, "I'm not doing it Bella. I can't."

I would kill her. In less than a heartbeat. I could hardly control myself just standing in front of her now. I watched her pulse beat frantically under her skin. I listened to the blood pound away as it traveled through her body. There was no way I could push my way into her flesh and not come undone.

Her jaw jutted forward and her eyes, already rimmed in red, began blinking back fresh tears. "So, you're okay if I die? All that," and she waved her hand behind her, "about _attachment _and connection—it doesn't go beyond death?"

I refused to respond.

"And you can take the lives of dozens of girls, travel around the globe, put in all that effort...yet I offer myself to you and you won't take it. Is this what you're saying?" I could hear the hurt in her voice—see it in the way she held her body.

I pushed the heels of my hands into my eyes and then over my head. "No! Yes! God, Bella, it's not that easy." I roamed the room a bit until I found the courage to say what I was thinking. "I killed those girls. I took their lives. I showed no restraint—no compassion. I understand what you want—I do. You were sent to me for eternity. For me to have for forever." I dropped my head and quietly said, "I'm not strong enough to do that."

"What does strength have to do with it Edward? I'm offering myself! I just..." she had been screaming, her words loud yet fragile, but now they were soft, "I'm not ready to go. I just found you."

Her plea shot through my chest and shattered my phantom heart. "It's not that easy! I've never turned anyone before—I've never stopped myself before it went too far—before it was too late. Especially someone like you. You have _no_ idea how much I crave you."

"Tell me... tell me how much you crave me." It was a demand. A proposition. Her words made my mouth water and my groin tighten. She stood across from me with a tear streaked face and blotchy red eyes. Her teeth tugged at her chapped bottom lip—pulling and taunting and luring me in.

I found my voice, deep and low in my chest. "My throat burns like it has been weeks since I've had a drink. Even while feeding—I always want more. I need more. I desire more. I can smell you throughout the house, throughout the property. You're in my clothes, my bed—my _head_. That day in the woods... I caught your scent miles away, I tracked your footsteps and the traces you left on the brush and trees. I knew in an instant—even after all these years—that it was you. All sense of humanity left my being in that one moment. I immediately returned to being an animal—a vicious, blood drinking, soul stealing, animal."

An odd look flashed in her eye and she rose further, taking steps forward until she was near me—under me. "Tell me..." she said again, her voice thick. My stomach contracted at her fingers as they splayed across the muscles. "Tell me how much you crave me."

I swallowed slowly and fisted my hands in an effort to maintain control. "I..." It was harder to express these desires. They were just as raw—as prevalent—but they were much, much newer. Bella's hand stroked up my arm and around my bicep, giving it a squeeze.

_Dear God._

"I want your body. I want to touch every inch—every section of skin and flesh. As much as my teeth _itch_ to..." I looked over her shoulder—ashamed, aroused, excited, "As much as I want to do _that_ to you, my tongue wants to taste you. Every part of you." I pulled back a little and she followed me, pushing and pressing into me. "You muddle my brain. I'm not sure if I'm coming or going when you're in my presence. You build a level of lust in me I can't discern. Like I said before... I literally want to consume you, Bella—blood, body and soul."

Bella's eyes captured mine and she implored, "I want you to have those things. All of those. Take it. _Taste me._"

I abruptly shook loose of her grasp and walked to the fireplace, resting both palms on the mantle. She moved behind me but I kept my eyes forward as she argued, "Do it. Try... if you fail I only die one day sooner than I should have."

And then... then it happened. I heard a tiny gasp, almost imperceptible, I heard the clank of a solid, hard object as it hit the hardwood floors, and I smelled it. Sharp and coppery. It was if the whole room had been filled with a garden of freesia, blooming and wild. I turned and found her pushed against the far side of the room, hand steadying herself against the paneling on the wall, crimson-red streaks running lazily down her arm.

I stared at her in shock, complete disbelief as I realized she had taken the piece of blue glass from the workshop and sliced through the flesh of her arm. Her face washed white, other than a smear of blood on her cheek, and she supported her elbow by her other hand, also coated in a glaze of red, and called, "Don't waste it. Please."

Against my better judgment I was over the couch in a moment, too fast for her eyes to even see. I raised her arm higher, over her head, and my eyes darted from the warm trails of blood to the dark brown of her own. My tongue darted out instinctively.

"Please."

My thirst was intense--my throat dry and flames licked the edges. I pushed her back into the wall, and lifted her arm higher. I ghosted my lips over hers and breathed, "Forgive me," and I let my tongue drop to the lowest point—touching it to her skin, her blood, her instant rush was incredible. Bella's blood was thick and warm... still beating with life. I groaned with delight. It was better... so much better than I could have even imagined.

_More_. I wanted more.

My mouth moved along her thin, soft arm, lapping up every bit I could get. One hand pushed into her hip, holding her in place against the wall as she writhed aggressively beneath me. "More," I mumbled, keeping my teeth back, the venom back, yet sucking over the open wound. My senses were in overload. Her heart was thundering, close and erratic, her breath was heavy and ragged. Her scent was bold and overpowering. Again, I pushed into her, with my hips this time, grinding her to the wall.

"Unnf." There were fingers in my hair, tugging and yanking. Through the haze I heard Bella's voice, raspy and deep, "Edward."

Her blood, the blood was so warm and it was just... _better. _It was better than those girls with brown hair or pale skin. It was better than the cashier or the girl at the library, the post office or in the park. It was better than the girl I'd tormented and murdered in her bed. It was what I'd searched for for all those years. But _better_.

_Best._

I felt a tug again, and her hand moving down to my jaw. She couldn't make me stop. I wouldn't stop, but as her body shuddered violently, she gasped louder—this time from pain—and my mouth paused. "I'm sorry," I said, my tongue touching down once again, searching for fluid.

"Edward," She called again, in attempt to lure me away from her arm. Her fingers raked down my jaw, my neck, my chest. Her fingers were slippery and wet. She moved them upward, over my chin and brushed a finger across my bottom lip.

Blood.

With a lick to my lips, following the taste, I lifted my eyes to hers and then, then I saw it. A wide smudge of crimson across her cheek and bordering on her mouth. I smirked, pleased to see her lips sticky—waiting... wanting.

I slowed my movements... _why rush_? I was only getting one opportunity, one chance to revel in the glory of her. I pressed my nose to her cheek and inhaled, "Your scent. It overpowers me." I whispered these words, my mouth moving to her ear. I felt her shiver at the cold. "Your blood..." _How do I even describe what it tastes like, how it meets my desires and needs? _How for once in my life I was satiated?

From there I covered her with kisses—licks. I felt her fingers lunge under my shirt, her soft, wet nails scraping my skin.

"Why are you doing this?" I begged, while I sucked and dragged my tongue over her skin. I wanted an answer, although I really didn't care. _Did I? _

"I want you. I don't want this to be it. I want you," her words were muffled under the closeness of my face.

I pulled back for a minute, hands surrounding her head on the wall. My breaths were deep for control, to steady. I shifted my feet in an attempt to quell the hardness in my pants.

"How... how could you want this?" My eyes were fixed on the blood next to her lip, by the heaving of her chest, by the way her hips lifted toward mine.

She shook her head against the wall, slow and deliberate. "I don't care Edward. It's beyond this. It's beyond me and you. Don't you understand this?"

Through the fog of blood and lust and craving, I thought of Alice. All those years ago, in the middle of a hotel, showing me her vision of Bella red-eyed and mine. I saw my denial and my murderous rampage. I saw this girl, _Isabella_, leaning against the wall, offering herself in sacrifice. For her life and for my future. I shook my head. "I want to. I want these things... but..." It had been so long since I'd felt anything but pain and loneliness.

Bella lifted a hand, a blood drenched, greasy hand, and laced her fingers through my hair, keeping me attached. She took her other hand and rubbed her lips, painting them with red.

_Fuck. _

My response was a growl, a rumble from deep and low in my chest, causing her eyes to spread wide. My tongue lapped up the blood first, removing it from her lips forcefully, quickly, but before I could move on, Bella's mouth moved in response to mine, sucking back with a fury of her own. Dangerously, she thrust her tongue inside, soft and warm. I lifted her by her thighs, pulling her off the ground so I could reach her better—easier.

"You taste so good," She mumbled into my mouth, her fingers scratching down my cheeks. She tasted like blood and sex. She tasted like everything I'd ever desired. With a rush, my mind melted, and I dropped her to her feet and pushed her to her knees as I followed, also landing on mine with a thud on the hard floor. I reached for her collar as she reached for my pants. Hers fell with a loud rip, her chest heaving, straining the fabric of her bra. I'd seen her without clothes before, but not like this... not with her wanting me as much as I wanted her. I wanted to bury myself in her.

_Fuck._

Furiously, my mouth moved to the smooth, white flesh, while her fingers grappled with buttons and zippers. I ran my teeth over her skin. I sliced her flesh, I punctured her skin. Bella cried out with pain. Fine red lines appeared, curving over the arch of her body. My mouth filled with more venom, wanting to incapacitate my victim—the animal inside unaware of my purpose, my intent. Before I'd drunk from her, careful not to mix my poison with her blood, but now... now, I took a deep breath and murmured to myself, "control, control, control."

I ran my tongue over the fresh wound, allowing more of the venom to drip inside. I ran my tongue down the swells of her breasts. I ran my fingers up to the edge of lace and satin and tore the fabric away.

"Aggh!" her sound emerged, a twisted moan, feeling the venom hit her blood stream, and her fingers tightened around my hips. My mind wanted to apologize. My body wanted to devour. Her face was twisted in anguish and I watched her lips for words. What came out was surprising.

"I want to feel you."

It was an invitation, a request, and I wasn't in the state of mind to refuse her. I wanted to feel her, too. Inside her. My body ached to feed from her. I'd lost sense of where I began and where I ended, and I pushed her backward, downward, stripping her of her pants, and hovered over her body. I tore off my own shirt, tossing it aside and saw the blood that coated my chest from her wandering hands earlier. I surveyed the two of us, blood now smeared _everywhere, _across her stomach and arms, drops splattered down her legs. Her body seized dramatically and I found my way to her shoulder, teeth poised and ready. It was as if she read my mind, and through clenched teeth she demanded, "Do it."

So I did. I licked her skin and bit into the thick tissue at the base of her neck. I drove my teeth in deep, letting the venom flow into her system. Her arms beat my chest and face, pushing and pulling, but I couldn't break the connection.

"More," she breathed, encouraging the fire.

My mouth latched tightly, listening to her words and not her actions. I knew she was in pain. It hurt, I knew this but it was a means to an end—and end she requested over and over. I pushed my hips into hers, our stomachs rubbing, her breasts pressing. I wanted more, needed more, wanted every last drop that she had to offer. I wanted every last breath she would take. I wanted everything. Everything.

"It hurts. It hurts. It hurts," she chanted. The words echoed though my hazy brain, bouncing through the solitary thought, the singular focus. But the words continued, over and over until they broke through the fog and I hesitantly pulled myself away. Bella grabbed at my shirt, clinging to the cloth while feral noises ripped from her chest. I knew the pain was harsh and I needed to stop. If wanted her forever, I needed to stop. _ Now._

"It hurts," she wailed.

It was enough for me to let go, and move my mouth to cover hers in an attempt to swallow the words. Small pants came from her mouth as she tried to manage the pain. I realized I had one hand on her hip, my thumb pressing hard into her skin and my other cupping her breast, her nipple hard and tight.

Pulling away she whimpered, "Make it s..st..stop." Her hair was wild, plastered to the blood on her skin and her eyes were slit—barely able to open. Her nose wrinkled from the pain.

"I can't," the words came out inadequate, realization taking hold. I'd done it. Taken her soul, her future. I did the one thing I never thought I would succumb to. But I stopped...at least I stopped.

I dropped my head and licked a bead of blood off her neck, "There's nothing I can do. I'm sorry." She twisted beneath me, groaning, pushing her legs wide, letting me settle between the warmth her thighs offered. I pushed my mouth to hers again, surprised by her continued forcefulness, her continued desire. She bit my lip and my tongue and my jaw and my chin. Each time harder and more fierce than before.

"Distract me," she commanded, her fingers digging into my sides, "Use you teeth and your mouth. Use your hands. Push me. Tear me. Do _something._" She needed distraction. I needed distraction. I was managing my hunger but only by a thread. One more drink and she was gone. Lost to me forever.

I wanted her with me forever.

With haste, I allowed my hands to wander and removed the blood soaked pants and underpants between us, all the while talking, explaining, soothing. "The venom... it's in your system, beginning the process of transformation. If I can hold off, hold out... resist, your body will shut down." I felt like she should know, she should understand. She opened her eyes a little, showing me the dark brown I'd come to cherish. I lowered my ear to her chest, listening to the count of her heart. "You have about ten minutes, more or less, of coherency, before you essentially fall asleep." We were both nude now, bodies dirty and pressed tight. I was whispering in her ear while her teeth ran over my shoulder and her hands roamed aimlessly over my body. "Once you're gone, you'll remain that way for a day or two or three... it will hurt. Badly."

"More than t...th..this?"

I nodded, my lips kissing down her body, drinking up the last bits of blood, tasting her flesh, taking her breasts into my mouth before I looked up, focusing on her eyes, not the blood. "It's different, more vivid. Your organs shut down, your blood transitions to venom, your muscles elongate, your body heals." I had her legs spread wide now, hooked around my waist, her heels digging into my back. I took the pressure of my weight off her body. I knew logistically she was dying, bloody and wounded, worse than the time before. But all that I could see was that she was beautiful. She was mine. Truly mine by her own offering—not by my taking.

"Make the ten minutes worth it Edward." She demanded, her hand dipping to touch me while she laid splayed beneath me. Her hand ran over the smooth flesh between my legs, causing me to shudder. Always demanding. Always pushing me further—forcing me out of my comfort zone. But instead of fighting, I followed her lead. I pulled again at her hips, pulling her up, pulling her to me. I was hard, desperately, furiously hard. My arousal though, wasn't just about lust, or blood, or basic want. I had fallen—fallen for this girl, this fragile girl who came to me lost and broken. I'd tried to heal her and she attempted to heal me. Alice knew all along I could never redeem myself without her. I could never truly _live_ without her.

I caught her eye, brown, rimmed in red from tears and exhaustion. "This..." I held still, my erection straining against her, "This is wrong... it's so entirely wrong—but it's the only thing that has made sense to me in decades. I should have known that first day that what we have is _more_... that I could never run from you."

She nodded her agreement and, without delay, I pushed in, past the tension, past the resistance until I filled her wholly and completely. She covered me in warmth and it spread from there throughout my entire body, causing my skin to burn. For once, I felt connected—bonded. I knew at that moment what my brothers felt, my father, the man I attacked in the forest. I knew what it was like to be possessed, instead of possessing.

Bella _owned_ me.

She let out a loud gust, her eyes squeezed tight, her hands grappling for my hips, for leverage, to maintain her stability, and before I could move, she lifted her hips and took me in further.

Always pushing me further.

"Harder, Edward, until I can't feel anything but you." The words hit me like fire, as though I had a purpose, and I pushed harder. I'd thought her blood was compelling but this... this was even more. Fueled on a mixture of blood and sex and desire, I thrust harder, pressing my fingers into her legs and stomach as hard as I could without tearing her apart. The animal in me wanted more, to feel more, to experience this at a heightened level, but she wasn't an animal, she was a girl, woman, human and even though she was changing, it hadn't happened yet.

"Too much?" I asked, fearful of the noises that strangled from her throat.

Bella's eyes flashed open, and she answered me with a surge of energy as she lunged toward my chest, climbing, grunting, twisting until she was upright—straddling my lap—her head buried in the dip of my shoulder. Her wound, fleshy and raw peeked from under her hair, wet and red, throbbing as our bodies collided. My senses were raised, completely overwhelmed by her taste, her touch, her smell. Slick wetness bound us together, different from blood, more than just my venom. Her heart beat in a frenzy, possibly knowing this was its last chance, the last time it would prove evidence of her humanity. With tiny, quick breaths, Bella lost herself in pleasure, or pain—a deep moan rupturing from her mouth—and I followed the same, unable to hold back any further, pumping with finality into her with little restraint. It was the best feeling I'd ever experience, but I was afraid to remain inside her for anohter moment, one more instant—I could still take her life, until her final heartbeat, saying goodbye to her forever.

I pulled out carefully, quickly and felt a mixture of shame and pride as I picked Bella up off the floor, cradling her body in my arms. I'd drank her blood, answered her desires, filled her body with my venom. I'd given her everything, and she gave me more in return. Kissing her forehead, I carried her—tired and close to death—up the stairs. We passed her room and into mine, where I laid her in the middle of the bed. Her eyes fluttered and a pained smile lingered on her lips. She reached her hand up and rubbed her thumb along my jaw, "Thank you. For saving me. For making it better."

I couldn't offer her my approval. I wasn't convinced I'd done the right thing, wasn't sure I hadn't been selfish, wasn't sure this transgression wouldn't be the end of me. I laced my fingers through hers and kissed her lips as they quivered, climbing in bed with her, attempting to squelch the tremors that shuddered down her arms and legs with my hands. A low groan trembled in her throat and her eyes opened. "Only a minute more," I assured, brushing her face and her hair.

She nodded, eyes closing, and I could hear her heart slowing its painful last beats, echoing through my limbs.

I looked out the window at the first hint of dawn as it broke behind the trees. Isabella was gone—her body slack in a state of transition. I nuzzled my head to her chest, no longer expanding, no longer moving, and considered the last minutes of her life, the last days, the last weeks, the last five years.

All of it had been rushing toward this moment, this apparently inevitable event. I sighed and stroked Bella's hair, breathing in her human scent for the final time.

What was done was done, and I prayed we made it out the other side.

* * *

ahhh...

so. hmmmm...

okay. we have one chapter left to tie this up. I hope you all don't just...well. I don't know. i was very nervous about posting this. It's the ending I was striving for the whole time and I worry some of you may not have expected it. If you hate it you do...if you don't? Well, good. I'm not alone.

thanks to rev, AG and songirl for helping me with this chapter and pushing me further.

This week I discovered the best fic. Volition by Rochelle Alison. Just when I think a fic can't totally consume me I find something like this. It's complete, on my list and has risen to the top five favorite fics i've ever read. Thanks Ro for such an awesome read.

angel


	21. Chapter 21

~*~

Daedalus In Exile

Chapter 21

~*~

Hours passed as I laid beside Isabella, the both of us stripped and bloodied, one dead and one dying. Curled beside her, hand clenched around her waist, I drifted in and out of coherency while her labored breaths and waning heartbeat shook my bones.

There was nothing to do but wait.

My hands went from slick to sticky, from sticky to dry and caked, signaling the point at which she stopped bleeding and the air began to dry the blood that coated our bodies. The bright red had turned a dull, deep brown—scratchy and hard on my chest.

I wondered what Isabella would say when she woke to this scene. She'd participated. She wanted it. She begged for it…but really? Could a human tolerate waking up to a blood bath once the adrenaline was gone? Once the lust had subsided?

Needing to be closer, I buried my nose in her hair—inhaling, only inhaling, and her body shook with a violent tremor causing me to tighten my hold and whisper words of comfort in her ear. "It's okay. It's okay. It's okay." I said them over and over until they no longer held meaning, but were more like a quiet hum filling the silent house.

We stayed like this for hours. While her hair strengthened and her lips became full. Under the pressure of my hand I could feel her muscles tighten and elongate. Her breasts became impossibly firmer and her skin hardened and smoothed.

I could feel her becoming something different. I barely trusted the human Isabella truly wanted me. I feared the inhuman one would take one look at herself and leave.

What would I do if this was not what she wanted? Again I nuzzled into her hair and flesh worshiping her as long as I could.

At some point I heard quick footsteps approaching the bed and familiar thoughts and scents penetrated my mind. A cool, comforting hand touched my back and I heard Carlisle's voice through the haze, "Come, let's clean you up."

My grasp tightened and I heard him speak again, "Let her go, she's fine, let her go, Edward."

I ignored him, closing my eyes and pushing my body closer to hers, blocking him out. Pretending we hadn't been discovered.

_Son, let her go. You need to clean up. We need to clean her up. She can't wake to this._

His mind widened, opening for me to see what laid before him. What laid next to me, with me. A massacre. Carnage. Whatever it was to me--love. Sacrifice. Desire. Was not what it looked to the outside.

Reluctantly, I let her go.

Carlisle shuttled me into the bath, forcing me under the scalding water. Through the rushing water I listened for her breaths. I grieved for her loss. I wondered if she would fear me once she changed. Esme had feared Carlisle for more than a month. Vampire emotions run deep and our fear and sense of self preservation was extraordinarily heightened. I wondered when her red eyes met my red eyes if she would she only see a killer. Her murderer. Or would she see me as she always had?

Carlisle handed me soap and directed me to wash. Then he began talking.

And talking.

I wasn't sure what he was saying. Something about doing well, resisting, being proud. The praise was unfathomable as I'd just killed a woman. A friend. My first lover. She and I had been caught in a deadly, disturbing game of cat and mouse and she lost.

Or won. I really wasn't sure.

I held my hand to my face, looking at the now diluted stains of crimson that ran from my finger tips to my elbow. Her blood. Only hours before it was so precious. So coveted. Now? I watched as soap ran down my chest to my legs, turning red as it pooled at my feet. Under Carlisle's instruction I scrubbed my body, like I had the first time I was covered in her blood. Again, I focused on the remnants wedged beneath my nails. In that speck of blood I saw her alive again, standing before me dripping blood _for me_. Lust and hunger. Running my tongue across her skin. Tasting copper. Tasting _her_. But this time it held no appeal, I'd gorged myself on her flesh and as exhilarating as it had been at the time, it now felt like a remnant of something sordid and dirty.

_You love her._

I snapped out of my thoughts and looked at Carlisle's shadow through the curtain. Love? I didn't know how I felt and the words wouldn't come.

_It may be hard to discern through all the blood and...destruction—but the simple fact you stopped means you love her._

Did it? I blinked through the water trying to determine if this was true.

_You stopped Edward. You've never stopped before. _

Carlisle spoke with reason and hundreds of years of experience and the wisdom of being my maker.

I cleared my throat, surprised that it sounded so loud and finally allowed, "She's my mate."

"I think she is," was all I heard from the other side of the room.

Eventually the water ran clean and I shut it off, twisting the knobs with a squeak. Carlisle handed me towels over the curtain bar which I used to dry off quickly. I needed to get back to her. Stay near her. Loudly, I pulled back the curtain and saw he was gone and I dressed in a rush.

Avoiding my red eyes in the mirror I opened the door, letting the steam and heat meet the cooler air of the bedroom. Isabella was now lying on a fresh mattress and crisp new sheets. She was clean, the blood removed, her wounds healing. Her hair was brushed and smooth. She would have looked like a sleeping angel if her lips were not quivering in pain and her fingers clenched with tension. Carlisle was leaning over her. I winced as his fingers grazed the bite mark on her neck.

"Stop." It came out in a twisted hiss.

With patience, always patience, he turned and looked at me. "I'm checking her progress."

The level of anger and possessiveness coursing though my body was alarming. He was my father. A physician. He'd turned four of us already. He knew what I did not. But I didn't want another man's hands touching her. Ever.

_I understand. It's all new. Your feelings for her are raw and intense. She's yours. I know._

"Mine."

We faced off for a moment longer. I knew my reaction was ridiculous, but the compulsion to protect was overpowering and my hands clenched into fist-sized balls by my side.

I studied the clean sheets over his shoulder, trying to get a handle on my emotions. "You did this? Cleaned her up?" I asked, having other suspicions.

"Alice." He stated. "She wanted to clean up for you—for her. Neither of you needed to wallow in it any further." Isabella moaned and both our eyes darted toward her, yet neither of us moved. I wanted to make the pain go away but it was useless.

Slowly, as though talking to a child, Carlisle said, "I'm going to tend to her—make sure she's comfortable. You're going to talk to Alice."

My hand flew to my damp hair, nervous suddenly about seeing Alice. Nervous about leaving Isabella. "No."

He had the gall to laugh. "Sorry, but yes. She's outside, waiting."

My eyes flashed to the woman, my woman, on the bed. I couldn't leave her.

Carlisle was the mind reader this time, "Edward, get this taken care of so you can focus completely on Bella when she wakes."

I looked at my father trying to understand everything. Alice, Carlisle, Isabella. "Did you really know all along she was my…mate?" The word was still unfamiliar and hard to process.

"No. I suspected," he said, sitting in the chair next to the bed, "and hoped. She was different, she took to your sister like they were bonded. But…she longed. She roamed the house when she thought we weren't aware…slipping to your room—absorbing…you."

I thought about Isabella searching for pieces of me while I roamed the world searching for her. "Why didn't you just tell me?" My voice raised in anger. "All those other women..." I trailed helplessly. I wanted to be furious but I was so tired.

"It wasn't for me to tell, Edward. For the first two years you were hell bent on destruction. For the last three you finally were making strides toward an appropriate way of life again. We kept her safe and hoped you would be there when the time came. Her injury forced Alice's hand a bit but you had to make these decisions. _You_ had to make the choice not to succumb. And you succeeded." Carlisle's eyes were hard. "If we had told you too soon you both would have been lost to us."

I blanched at the reality of his thought. He was right, of course, even if I still didn't want to admit it. Resigned, I leaned over the bed, taking a moment to run my hand over her cheek and then across the inflamed yet healing wound on her neck. "She was so brave."

"She's a fighter and so stubborn. Almost as bad as you."

I picked up her trembling hand and gave it a squeeze. "Take care of her."

"Of course," My father offered me a warm smile as he directed me out the door. "Go. We'll be waiting."

~*~

When I stepped off the back porch I was assaulted by the smell of chemicals and smoke. The burn barrel was on fire--a dark cloud billowing from the top. Alice had cleaned up the bedroom and had made quick work of disposing the evidence. I'd been shocked when I walked into the living room that the mess had been removed from there as well. The scent of bleach assaulted my nostrils and I speculated she must have begun cleaning before they ever came upstairs.

I scanned the yard for her and easily read her thoughts from the garden, where she stood patiently toeing rubble and shattered glass, with one tiny foot. I heard her soft voice lift through the air as she said, "That was some temper tantrum you threw huh?"

My eyes narrowed at her baiting, but my annoyance was short lived. She was right. I threw an epic tantrum and she and I were now standing in the remains. I kicked a pile of cement across the path and shrugged. "It was pretty bad."

My dark haired sister picked up a piece of broken glass. "It's a shame. I'd always wanted to see it in person. I can tell it was beautiful."

"It was useless," I muttered. "A substitute for the real penance I owe my victims."

Her face lifted toward mine and I saw the twist of her lips and the furrow of her brow. She didn't agree with my assessment.

Alice had been my sister and best friend for such a long time. Those bonds were hard to break--even with the tension so thick between us. The last time we saw each other we were in some kind of odd power struggle over Bella and her fate. That was no longer a question as by the laws of our nature, Bella technically was mine, but there was a lingering doubt bouncing around in my head that I couldn't shake.

Did Bella really want me or did she just not want to die? The insecurities felt weak but they were still real.

"I hope this is what she wanted," I said, breaking the silence between us.

Alice sighed and took several steps closer. "It's never what we truly want Edward, but she at least asked for it—it's more choice than any of us were given."

I looked over Alice's head, over the stone wall surrounding the garden, back at the cabin. "But, did she really want me and all the things she had to do to make me…do _that_."

Alice's hand tilted my chin downward. Her yellow eyes were shining curiously. "Edward, don't do this to yourself."

I shrugged again and closed my eyes. The instant I did so Alice had her arms wrapped around my waist and my chin dropped to the top of her head. "She offered herself so willingly. It could have been a disaster." I opened my eyes and stared across the garden. "Would you have been here to fix it? To save her if I'd failed?"

After pausing for a beat Alice replied with a shake of her head, "No."

"No? But why?" I roared—furious that she wasn't there, furious that Bella had been left unprotected with me.

"Because Edward," she said, her arms tightening, refusing to let me go, "this was about you. And Bella. And you making the right decisions—turning your life around. No one forced Bella into those woods. I suggested it, but she took a leap of faith. You also took your own leaps of faith every step of the way."

"Was it clear?" I asked, eager to know, "Could you see the entire time that it would end well?"

Alice laughed darkly, "No, definitely not. You were unsure—wavering over life and death or even just letting her go. My vision changed over and over, to the point that I simply stopped looking. I had to let go the same way you did."

I pulled away from her grasp and picked up a piece of broken cement studying the pattern that once graced the top. With a grunt I threw it over the garden walls and deep into the forest. After a moment I heard it land with a thud. "Does she love me?" I asked baring my insecurities.

Alice picked up her own mass of rock and tossed it in a similar direction, it too traveled a good distance before hitting a tree with a crack. A quick smile curved at the edges of her lips. "That's not really fair is it?"

I shook my head knowing it was true. Love was something you earned. It shouldn't be cheapened by a vision.

_"_What will you do now?" she asked.

I smirked, "Don't you already know?" But I wasn't sure of anything. How she would feel about me, what she would want to do. How we would live. There was no way Alice could get an accurate reading.

"Do you think you'll raise her our way? Carlisle's way?"

Again I looked at the house, this time up at the window of my room. I could see Carlisle's shadow crossing the window and I tried to listen for her heartbeat. It was lessening.

"I want to," I replied and grimaced at the skeptical look on Alice's face. "My days of killing are over. I realize now it was a means to an end." A very bloody, sexually fueled end. "I understand now it was about her. I'm so sorry."

_You've apologized before. In countless letters. None of them were sincere._

"I know. I didn't understand. I guess I thought I was running away from something when all along I was running toward her. I was wrong but unwilling to accept it. I was stupid. I'm truly sorry."

My apology was met with silence. Mental and verbal--but I waited. It was up to Alice to forgive. It was her choice.

_I don't trust you._

I thought this over for a moment. "You trusted me enough to send your best friend."

Alice spoke aloud, "I sent her knowing she could be slaughtered. I only hoped the man inside would prevail."

I felt a rush of pride. "You had hope then. You never lost that."

Alice was on her toes beneath me, looking up with imploring eyes. "No. Never. But Edward, I'm not sure if you truly understand what you did to me. I saw it all. Every one. You were cruel and vicious." She turned her head from me in disgust.

"I'm going to fix it. For real this time. I want to teach her the right way--if she'll let me." My thoughts again shifted to Bella. It was getting close.

"She will," Alice said, her eyes glazed as she peered into the future. "But you have to be the strong one. It's your responsibility--you can't afford to be weak."

_Edward _

Carlisle's voice penetrated my mind and I looked toward the window above. I could make out his form through the wavy glass and saw he was waving us in.

_It's time._

Panic seized my body. I wasn't human. I didn't sweat or have a pounding heart or ragged breath. But I was terrified. I was worried. I was eager and excited. This was the most important day of my eternal life. This day absolved my past and determined my future.

Before he could leave the window I was in the room, Alice trailing behind me. Bella was lying stiff and unmoving on the bed just like I left her, except the rhythm of her heart was now barely audible.

Alice slipped her hand in to mine and I looked down at her, breaking my eyes from Bella. She was full of forgiveness and confidence and knew I needed to feel the same way toward the woman upstairs. I needed to be there for her like I had always been blessed with those supporting me.

"Are you ready?" she asked her mind full of questions and not visions for once.

"Yes."

~*~

Even though Bella's breath and pulse had waned I still had a few moments to make some decisions.

"I need you to leave."

My words were calm but firm causing my father and sister to look at me with wide, shocked eyes. "But..." Alice began and I was slammed with a dozen reasons why she needed to stay.

_Edward, we don't know her strength or reaction...._

I shook my head. This was non-negotiable. "You don't have to leave entirely. But not in the room. Maybe not even in the house...outside perhaps?" I was willing to allow this, as they were right, there was a great likelihood she could overpower me.

"We'll be outside," Carlisle said, tugging Alice by the arm. She shot me a hostile glare as she went out the door, but I could see in her mind that she knew I was right. This was between me and Bella. It always had been and it always would be.

I was at her side before the front door closed, winding her fingers into mine. I was scared, so scared, that she would hate me or forget me or refuse to live the life my family had made. I feared I would follow her to the ends of the earth just to be near her, to touch her or taste her.

My fingers ran up her arm, over the now smooth skin from her self-inflicted wound. They traveled up to her neck, to the hard place where my teeth plunged into her skin.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, hoping that somehow she could hear me. "It shouldn't have been like that. Violent and fierce. You deserve to be worshiped and loved. That...was unacceptable."

My eyes were focused on our hands. Two pale, cold, intertwined hands, hers limp and mine clinging. Desperate.

"I want this though. I want you. I want you to be my mate." With every word I became more sure. "Your laugh and your heart. I hope you never lose that. I'll help you keep it. I promise."

Her body lurched, with a loud gasp from her lips and I ran my hand over her chest. Her heart still beat slowly. Not yet, but soon.

I ran a hand through my hair, tugging at the ends. "I want to make this right. For you to still have a choice--about me. I want you to decide if I'm worthy. I want to know if we have more than just this bond--this animalistic connection between us." I dragged her hand to my lips and kissed her palm. "I think...I think with you I can finally experience love. But I'm scared. What if what is real for me isn't the same--"

Bella moved under my hand, her fingers gripping mine in return and her eyes fluttered, trying to focus on the room. She squinted mumbling something about lights and fire. I realized the blinds were open, causing a harsh glare in the room and in an instant I closed them and returned to her side.

Eyes wide and clutching her throat. "Water," she begged while she scrambled to a sitting position. She began looking frantically around the room for relief.

"Hey," I called quietly, trying to get her attention. I had her wrists between my own and she struggled against the weight, yet never looked at me. "Isabella...Bella. Here. Look at me."

"My throat--"

"It burns, I know," I tentatively reached out my hand and pressed it to her neck. She flinched under my touch, hissing under her breath but instead of pulling away I just continued speaking, "You're thirsty--but not for water. You can eat soon."

"Edward?" Her eyes finally focused on mine. Her's were red like rubies, glimmering in the shadowed room. I'm sure mine were the same.

She reached her hand out and traced the lines of my face as she had done before. Her eyes narrowed as she swallowed trying to futilely quench her thirst. She studied my face and recognition flashed in her eyes as they snapped to her arm and her hand flew to her shoulder.

"You remember."

"I remember."

She sat with her back against the headboard, the very one we pressed into days ago, when her lips touched mine. I wanted to do it again, but it wasn't right and I promised myself I would do it right from now on.

"I remember wanting you so badly. I couldn't get enough."

Her words cut me. Deep and to the bone. It was exactly how I'd felt. A confession slipped from my lips, "I couldn't either." My resolve to do the right thing, to earn her love and respect was strong, but already it was proving difficult.

She was so beautiful. I looked for her aggression, the demon that lurked beneath and couldn't find it. I only saw her. Wide eyed and slightly fearful.

"I'm sorry though." My apology felt weak. How I could apologize for meeting my strongest desire?

Bella shook her head, "I'm not. It's what I wanted. This is what I wanted." She grabbed my hand again with strong fingers. "_You_ are what I want."

She wanted _me_.

"What happens now?" she asked suddenly, her fingers running across her arms, distracted by her new skin.

"Now," I said trying to formulate the words, "I teach you what you need to know."

Her eyes were on my lips and her brow tried to furrow but it was hard and tight--any trace of lines in her skin gone forever. "Say that again."

Although I was confused, I did as she asked, "I'll teach you what you need to know?"

"Your lips look strange when you talk. They move so fast."

I felt laughter bubble through my chest. I'm sure it did look strange. It was all strange for a newborn. "Your lips look perfect," I replied like a love-sick fool. I wanted to kiss her. Instead I asked inanely, "Are you okay?"

She shook her head and I was fascinated by her thicker hair and perfect skin. She was so different, but the same. I'd never known anyone really before and after a change. "No. My throat hurts and my eyes...I feel like I just walked out of a cave and into the sunlight and my skin hurts and my ears...everything is just so loud. And you..." She said and looked me up and down making me shiver. "You're beautiful and...," she stopped again and leaned toward me and pushed her nose into my throat, "You smell _so_ good. It makes my nose hurt." I closed my eyes feeling the closeness of her body. The bloodlust was gone, which was an enormous relief, but my cravings and desires for her were just as strong, only different.

Again, laughter shook my body at her honesty. Tentatively, I leaned toward her, keeping my eyes focused on hers and sniffed her neck in return. "You smell pretty good, too." I inhaled again, resisting the urge to climb on top of her or in her. I wanted her so badly. I fought my desires and said quietly, "The sensitivity will decrease at some point. It won't be so overwhelming."

We studied one another for a moment and I allowed Bella to touch me and explore my face, hair and arms, with her new awareness, and I answered the dozens of questions she had. She was charming. She was still Isabella but most of all she was mine. Again, I wondered why her behavior was so calm--she was actually soothing me.

"Why are you so..." I couldn't even find the word I wanted to use. "Different? You're not scared or angry. You're only hungry and a little distracted. Rosalie almost took my head off when she awoke and Esme locked herself in her room for a month. Emmett tore off like a wild animal--we had to track him for a hundred miles before we caught him and carried him home. It took all four of us to restrain him."

She looked thoughtful for a moment but then said, "I _am_ nervous. And my body feels like it's shaking from hunger, but Edward, this is what I wanted. All I wanted for the last five years of my life was to be with you. I'm overwhelmed with relief that we both survived."

Bella poked and probed my face and tugged at my hair and when her fingers made contact with my skin I reveled in the fact that even though there was no longer body heat--she still set me on fire.

After a moment of quiet she said, "Is this really what you want?"

Confusion took hold again, but she was so scattered jumping from subject to subject, distracted by her hunger and the slightest noise. "What?"

"Do you really want to make this right? To be with me? To be my mate?"

I stared at her for a moment. She was repeating what I said before she awoke. She'd heard me. I tried to hold my eyes steady to hers but at the last minute I dropped them. "I do."

"Yeah?" she asked, cupping my chin with her hand, tilting my head upward.

"Yes."

A beautiful, wide smile spread across her mouth and she said, "Me too."

Suddenly she shuddered openly and swallowed again and I asked, "Do you want to hunt with me or do you want us to bring you something?"

Without hesitation she said, "I want to hunt. With you."

A wide smile split my face. _With you_. Me. I was part of a pair. A fragile, still forming, darkly obsessive pair, but still, for once, I was coupled.

"What will we eat?" she asked and began untangling herself from the bed linens.

"Whatever we can catch." I replied and reached to pull her from the bed. She was light, but solid. The same, but different.

A wicked grin tugged at her lips and she asked, "Can I catch you?"

Slowly, as not to startle, I reached for her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her carefully to me. She leaned in, licking my lip with her tongue and I caught it between my teeth sucking hard and playfully before she could get away.

"You already have me," I announced, loving the feel of her mouth on mine. Loving the feel of her tongue as it scraped across my teeth. Loving the feel of her.

She giggled, girly and loud, and began moving out of the room. I chased the long dark hair that trailed behind her and flowery scent that gave her away. Her footsteps pounded down the stairs steady and swift, and her powerful hands crashed past the door and over the porch steps. She flew down into grass and over squishy piles of mud and I followed her like I always had and always would, only this time not toward pain and destruction.

Deep in the forest, I easily caught up and reached down for her hand, feeling relief when she wove her fingers happily through mine. My time of isolation was over. The years of exile were past--the only person who could absolve me of my wrongs was clinging to me, pulling me toward the future.

* * *

Thank you all for following DIE for the last couple months. It was hard and challenging but worth it I think.

Please check out A Different Forest (ADF) website tomorrow(Tuesday) for the Interviews with Jessica Stanley series. One of my characters will be featured.

Want to thank Revrag and Songirl for helping so much with this chapter. AG for being my soulsister in this fandom, and everyone else i nagged, harassed and bugged when i needed hand holding.

I do not plan on posting an epi. (sorry sam) This is how i wanted it to end. Never say never but for the time being I am done. I also have nothing else really planned at the moment to work on but I'm sure at some point my brain will start churning and need release.

Couple things. thanks for all the fic recs. I'm excite to delve into some of those AU's I avoid while writing AU. I really only read one or two because I tend to worry and get confused. Always send more. I am a avid reader and love to find new things.

Please note that the fic I reccomended a couple months ago, Nothern Lights and Whiskey Lullibies, is no longer on fan fic. Please look for it under songirl's profile at Twilighted as it is not complete and she will continue updating there.

Anyhoo, thanks for the support, hope you liked it and see you around the fandom~angel


End file.
